


You're The Best Choice I Didn't Make

by ideliagirl



Category: The White Princess (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Inheritances, Lines of Succession, Strangers to Lovers, mentions of autism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 07:36:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 64,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideliagirl/pseuds/ideliagirl
Summary: Modern AU where even though it's the 21st century, Great Noble Houses still scheme and plot and marry a child or two to virtual strangers in order to strengthen their positions or ensure their inheritances.Lizzie York and Harry Tudor had been living their lives as if the archaic methods of the Great Noble Houses they belong to will never affect them. Their mothers think differently.They barely know each other when the marry. Can they find common ground and create a happy life together?





	1. Scheming Mothers, Gobsmacked Children

“You noble-borns are fuckin’ crazy.”

“Is that helpful?” Richie Pole looked over at his friend and threw a lime wedge his way, then gestured to the moping man sitting between them at the bar. “Seriously, like he’s not freaking out enough.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Jack de Vere raised his hands apologetically before bringing his beer bottle to his lips and taking a long pull. “It’s just we’re going through life thinking he’s Harry Tudor, mediocre rugby player extraordinaire and best Top Ramen cooker in our entire old dorm hall……..and then something like this happens and it’s like……..” he made the mind blowing gesture with both hands.

Harry lifted his head. “Suddenly you’re reminded that I’m actually Lord Henry Tudor? Heir to the titles and fortunes of _two_ Great Noble Houses?” He took another shot of tequila and sucked on a lime wedge before spitting it out. “I myself, try very hard to forget that my life _isn't now_ and _never has been_ my own to live.”

“Harry…” Richie began sympathetically, brows furrowing. “There’s nothing you could do to get out of it?”

“Our parents have already put it forward to the House of Lords and it’s a binding agreement, so……….no, not really.” Harry shook his head. “Unless I want my family to be disinherited from our fortune and properties, me be disowned from my House and my family, and oh yeah—lose my British citizenship.”

“Then maybe being married won’t be so bad.” Jack piped up over the bar’s jukebox. “Even if it _is_ to a woman your mother picked out for you.”

“I mean, I’d like to think I haven’t made a complete waste of my life!” Harry began to rant, ignoring his friend. “Top of my class at every school she’s ever put me in, doctorate in economics, teaching job at LSE! I mean, is that not enough for her? It’s like she thinks I’ve been working at Smoothie Hut, playing bongos on the street corner, and crashing on someone’s couch my whole life!!!”

“Well, your mother’s _strange_.” Jack added, covertly moving the tequila bottle far down the bar top, away from his rapidly-growing inebriated friend. “And not just because she herself is noble-born, but because……well, because she’s…….”

Richie took over for his floundering friend. “Okay, so we agree there’s not yet been a word invented to accurately describe Margaret Beaufort.”

“Your mum is ambitious,” Jack continued matter-of-factly. “but do you truly think she would be doing this if she thought you'd be unhappy for the rest of your life?”

Harry shrugged, looking around for the now-vanished tequila bottle. “It’s not like she’s ever been happy or in love with either my father or stepfathers.”

“But _those_ marriages were arranged,” Jack’s brow furrowed. “If she’s been unhappy in them, you’d at least think she might shy away from putting her _only son_ in one.”

“Regardless of happiness, Lady Margaret views those marriages as successful,” Richie sighed knowingly. “since if she hadn’t entered into an arranged marriage with those men and their Great Noble Houses, her Somerset inheritance wouldn’t have gone to her, even though she was the sole heir, because…….” he shrugged his shoulders. “well, because she was a woman.”

“Another reason you noble-borns are fucking crazy.” Jack snorted out a laugh. “It’s not the 15th century anymore! Read about women’s lib, for Christ’s sake.”

“Well, that’s part of the reason my mother’s chomping at the bit to arrange this thing.” Harry put his head in his hands. “Apparently the woman—”

“—You mean _your bride_.” Jack teased with a wink.

Harry shot him a dirty look and continued. “She’s from a top noble house—higher than any title my mother has ever held, which my mother finds _very_ appealing in a potential wife for me—but apparently, for some reason, their line of succession and inheritance are in peril, and the only way the York family can keep their inheritances is to marry the oldest daughter to another Great Noble House—and that’s my intended bride.” He scrubbed both hands through his mop of curls. “And our mothers know each other through various social circles, so they got to plotting.”

“Wait a minute!” Jack slapped his hand down on the bar top. “Are you talking about _Elizabeth York_?”

Harry nodded dumbly. “Yeah, both mother and daughter are named Elizabeth.”

“Fuck, man,” Jack shook his head in amused disbelief. “Here I’ve been all sympathetic to your plight of having an arranged marriage, and all this time you’ve been pouty and whiny about having to marry Lizzie FUCKING York?!!!”

“Am I missing something?” Richie asked, looking back and forth between the two men.

“Yeah,” Jack chuckled lowly. “Our friend’s a damn toolbag.”

“Hey!” Harry shouted in offense.

Jack looked at Richie. “You know how my investment firm is always trying to act all hoity-toity to attract new clients?”

“Sure.”

“Well, one of the ways we do that is by having our networking cocktail parties in hoity-toity places.” Jack slapped Harry on the back. “And we routinely rent out space in The British Museum, where Harry’s intended wife works. I’ve talked to her a few times and she is _awesome_. She’s smart—she’s working on her doctorate, too—she’s sweet, she’s funny, and oh yeah……so fucking gorgeous it makes your palms sweaty!!!”

Harry let out a deep sigh. “That’s not…..that’s not….Damn it, that’s not the point!!” He opened his arms wide in exasperation. “Fine, she’s gorgeous. I mean, I haven’t seen her since she was seventeen, but I seriously doubt she’s gotten _less breathtaking_ now that’s she’s grown out of those awkward teenage years. And I’m sure she’s cultured and intelligent and accomplished.” Harry stood from the barstool and threw a few bills down on the bar. “It’s not _about_ her, or any other woman I may have ended up with……it’s about the fact I had absolutely NO choice in this!”

 

 

 

 

 

“So, I have absolutely NO choice in this?” Lizzie put one foot forward and placed her hand on her hip.

Elizabeth didn’t even look up from the desk as she wrote in the ledger, but her voice took an admonishing tone. “Lizzie.”

“No, I realize _all of_ _this_ …….” Lizzie opened her arms and gestured around to the massive room filled with fine rugs and porcelains, gorgeously upholstered furnishings, and ten generations of York family portraits hanging on the walls. “…..is _so_ _very_ _important_ to you. But you would think your daughter’s future—her happiness—would at least enter into the equation, before you made choices for her life that are quite frankly _medieval_ in nature—”

“Arranged marriages between Great Noble Houses still happen to this very day,” Elizabeth closed the ledger and met her daughter’s glare with a resolute quirked brow. “And are in fact quite vital to the survival of those great houses.”

Lizzie crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, then maybe those houses _need to die_.”

Elizabeth straightened in the highbacked, leather chair behind the desk and narrowed her eyes. “You always knew this was a possibility.”

“I did not!” Lizzie shook her head determinedly. “I did _not_. You always told me to go out and make my own life, something I could be proud of. And to marry a man for love, like you married my father.”

“That was _before._ ” The line of Elizabeth’s mouth grew hard, her voice sorrowful. “Before your father died young and your brother Edward arrogantly thought he could ski down a Black Diamond course in icy conditions.” Elizabeth’s fist clenched tightly by her side. “Those two deaths put all of our futures in question—not just yours.”

Lizzie let out a deep sigh. “Yes, but it’s my future you’re offering up as sacrifice.”

Elizabeth stood and walked around the desk, gesturing for Lizzie to sit in the nearby chair and taking the seat opposite her. “Lizzie, I’m going to say something out loud that we’ve never said out loud before: your brother Richard can never be the true heir to the House of York. He will never marry, he’ll never have children—”

Lizzie’s face suddenly crumpled, and she let out a small sob. “No, mother—”

“We’ve hidden it as much as we can, for as long as we can.” Elizabeth continued, looking down to the hands in her lap. “But keeping him on the grounds of this estate so that others won’t take note of him? It’s _wrong_. He deserves to go out into the world, even if it’s just to small pockets of the world—safe places where he can be with others like him, where he won’t feel so all alone.”

Lizzie kept her eyes closed. “I agree he deserves that—”

“If we reveal your brother’s diagnosis before we’ve secured our inheritance through our eldest daughter’s— _that’s you_ —marriage to another Great Noble House…….your grandmother and uncles will petition the courts to have him removed as heir and transferred back to their line.” Elizabeth rubbed the deep wrinkles that had formed on her forehead the past few years. “You _know_ they will. And they will leave us _with nothing_. I have to think of the care Richard will need for the rest of his life, I have to think of you and your four sisters.”

“You really think Grandmother will allow six of her grandchildren to go uncared for, simply because the two of you don’t get along?” Lizzie scoffed, but it was without conviction. “You’ve always had such a persecution complex when it came to her.”

“Your grandmother once told me that she considered your Warwick aunts to be her only true daughters-in-law, and you and your siblings to be less-than your cousins because I didn’t hold a noble title before I married her son.”

“I know it’s gotten worse between her and us since father died,” Lizzie didn’t look up at her mother. “I know he was able to keep her somewhat in line.”

Elizabeth chuckled ruefully, putting her elbow on the arm of the chair and her chin in her palm. “She’s always had greater control over George and Richard than she did over your father, using Isabel and Anne like puppets to suit her will.” She shook her head in disgust. “She even wanted Edward removed as heir at one point because of her lack of influence on him. Cecily will get back into the position of power she had when your grandfather was alive, and your uncles might start out intending to provide for our well-being, but she will turn them against us. And then God only knows what will happen……you know in your heart that what I’m saying is true.”

“And I’m just supposed to be the next generation in this lady-war for power?” Lizzie spoke in a weak voice, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Hop a ride on the Tudor family’s welsh dragon so that we can defeat my father’s family in their treachery to take what’s ours?” She laughed without mirth. “And then what? Fly away to Camelot where I’m locked in a castle until I give him heirs?”

“No, my dear.” Elizabeth smiled lightly. “Once the marriage contract has been approved by the Crown, you’ll be married within sixty days—as is the law—and we’ll purchase a terraced home or flat for the two of you in London. You’ll not be expected to give up your work. And neither will he……” she lifted an encouraging brow. “………he’s a Doctor of Economics at the London School.”

Lizzie’s eyes widened fleetingly before taking on an intrigued twinkle. “It’s not as if I’m suddenly okay with this just because he has a PhD.”

“Of _course not.”_ Elizabeth smiled hopefully. “But…….it might mean you have some things in common?”

“It’s been years since I’ve seen or even thought of Henry Tudor.” Lizzie bit her lip, trying to suppress her curiosity. “I remember him being entitled and sullen.”

“And I remember you being snobbish and vain. But you aren’t anymore.” Elizabeth needled, nudging her daughter’s knee. “Perhaps your years of study and hard work the two of you spent to become experts in your fields have caused you both to become open-minded and even-tempered?”

Lizzie didn’t respond for several long moments until barely whispering, “Mother?”

“Yes, my darling?”

Lizzie looked down to her lap and began apprehensively. “After the wedding…..we could lead somewhat separate lives, couldn’t we?”

Elizabeth instantly sobered, but nodded. “Yes, you could. You wouldn’t be the first within the Great Houses to be married in name only. And it’s not as if we still hang the wedding night bedsheets out the window for proof of consummation.” She then gave a sad sigh and reached for her daughter’s hand, tenderly taking it in hers. “But my sweet Lizzie, that makes for quite a lonely life. Why go into this, looking to be at odds? When there is a chance the two of you might work together to be happy?”

 

 

 

 

 

“You will be polite. You will be respectful.” Margaret turned her head to cast a glare at Harry in the seat next to her, as their limo barreled down the road toward York Manor. “And you will not indulge in the ‘ _woe-is-Henry’_ farce you’ve been perfecting since grammar school.”

“Grammar school.” Harry nodded to himself. “You mean when you shipped me off to France and barely let me know it was happening?”

“To the best and most expensive schools in France, you mean?” Margaret answered back through clenched teeth. “You act like I sold you to a shipmaster to work on the docks of Le Havre!”

“Henry, Margaret……for god’s sake.” Thomas Stanley groaned in his seat across from them. “I can barely tolerate the idea of spending a whole afternoon with the York family, I’ll certainly not be able to do it if the two of you are sniping at each other throughout the whole ordeal.”

Margaret sat up straighter and scoffed. “He makes it seem as though I’ve ruined his life.”

“No, you’ve just _commandeered_ my life.” Harry shot back, staring out the window as the car turned to pass through the wrought iron gates of the great estate.

“Marriage to a perfectly lovely girl from a Great Noble House is something all noble-born men aspire to……” Margaret primly folded her hands in her lap. “……and I’ve made it happen for you. You’d think a little gratitude would be in order.”

Thomas groaned again. “Don’t push it, Margaret.”

 

 

 

 

 

The servant came into the doorway of the grand reception room and his voice echoed loudly as he made the announcement. “Lord Henry Tudor, Lord Thomas Stanley and Lady Margaret Beaufort have arrived, Lady York.”

Elizabeth rose from the settee with arms wide and a welcoming smile on her face. “Margaret! Thomas! Welcome, I’m so glad you could come and spend the afternoon with us!”

Margaret came into the room with Thomas a step behind her and kissed Elizabeth lightly on the cheek. “Elizabeth, we were so happy to be invited.”

Harry had stood back closer to the doorway with his head low and waited for his mother to signal, but it was his stepfather who spoke after he’d kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. “Henry, come say hello to your future mother-in-law.”

Harry’s chest rumbled with the suppressed groan caused by that statement, but he came forward anyway. “Lady York, thank you for having us in your home today.”

“Of course, Henry. So happy you’re here.” Elizabeth beamed at him and gestured to a young woman who then rose from the settee. “This is my second-oldest daughter, Cecily.”

“Yes.” Margaret’s face split in a grin. “My, you are a pretty young lady. I understand you’re seeing my half-brother, John.”

Cecily ducked her head with a shy smile. “Yes, ma’am. But it’s very new. Only a few dates so far.”

“Well,” Margaret continued teasingly. “the way he speaks of you, you should expect many more dates in the near future.”

Elizabeth cut in when she saw Harry looking around apprehensively. “You’ll have to forgive Lizzie for not being here to greet you. My youngest daughters Cate and Bridget were acting quite rambunctious while getting ready for your arrival, and Lizzie has the steadiest hand in getting them to behave.”

“She should be down with them any moment.” Cecily took note of the pained expression on Harry’s face, before adding with biting sarcasm, “She seemed just as eager to see you as you do her, Henry.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat and glared at her daughter to be quiet. “Margaret, I commissioned a new portrait of my Edward just last month,” she interjected in hopes of moving on from the touchy subject. “would you and Thomas like to come to the gallery and view it with me?’

“Of course, that sounds lovely.” Margaret said brightly, beginning to walk toward the doorway with Elizabeth and Thomas. “Henry, are you joining us?”

Harry nodded toward the double, glass-paneled doors that led out to the terrace. “I think I’ll get some air, actually.”

A cell-phone ring began to blare out into the room and Cecily looked down to it in her hand, stopping Elizabeth before she made her exit. “Oh, that’s John. Mother, I’ll just go into the drawing room?”

“Yes, that’s fine, my dear.” Elizabeth nodded before turning back to Margaret and Thomas with a grin as Cecily walked out of the room. “Lizzie will just have to do some exploring to find us!”

 

 

 

 

 

Harry went outside and closed the doors behind him with a long sigh, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. He then ambled to the edge of the terrace, looking out to the lush greenery of the vast grounds. He closed his eyes and hung his head, leaning both hands against the railing while taking a deep and fortifying breath.

He opened his eyes again, and looking down, was shocked to see a previously-unnoticed head of golden hair. Sitting on the last step of the nearby stone stairs that led out onto the grass, was a boy of about ten or eleven. Harry walked over and went down the steps, stopping when his feet hit the earth. He turned and smiled down at the boy.

“Hello. I’m Harry Tudor.”

The golden head did not lift, and the voice that responded was without emotion. “Henry Tudor, son of Lady Margaret Beaufort and the deceased Edmund Tudor, heir to the Somerset and Richmond titles—also faintly tied by marriage to the House of Lancaster through your paternal grandmother.”

Harry’s brows lifted nearly to his hairline in surprise. “Well, yes. That’s correct.” He let out a short laugh. “I don’t typically go around with all those titles after my name, though. Normally, I’m just Harry Tudor.” He sat down on the step near the child and attempted to catch his gaze. “And you are?”

The boy looked everywhere but directly at Harry, unable to meet his eyes. “Richard York.”

“Ah,” Harry laughed teasingly. “Lord Richard York, heir to the York title going all the way back to the early Plantagenet days. And heir to the House of York fortunes and properties, including this fine estate we’re currently sitting on.”

Richard wrapped his arms around his middle and began to rock his upper body back and forth, turning his head fully away from Harry. “I’m just Richard York.”

Harry’s heart fell into his stomach as he recognized the traits of the boy’s actions and his voice devoid of inflection.

“Richard,” Harry took a deep breath and began carefully, but meaningfully. “The only title that truly matters is the title we give to ourselves.”

“ _What are you doing_?!!”

Harry looked back at the sound of the sharp voice, and seeing the young woman to whom it belonged, stood from the steps and straightened. “Elizabeth.”

Dressed in a sleeveless fitted dark green sheath dress with her gleaming blonde hair pulled into a messy side braid and her blue eyes shining with emotion, Lizzie York could have been described as ethereal and stunning—except that the emotion shining in her eyes and twisting her mouth downward was clearly indignation. “I don’t need you to speak to my brother.”

“Elizabeth,” Harry’s mouth fluttered open and shut uncertainly. “I just came out to get some air and Richard was sitting on the steps, so I introduced myself.”

Lizzie’s eyes rapidly moved between Harry and her brother. “Richard, are you alright?”

“Alright. Yes, alright.” Richard continued to rock back and forth.

“Okay, then.” Lizzie took a visible, relieved breath. “Why don’t you stay there, and Henry and I will go to the terrace on the other side of the house.”

Richard didn’t look up at her. “Okay, okay, okay.”

Lizzie turned her back on Harry and began to walk with purpose to the terrace around the corner from the doors Harry had come out. When she reached a set of garden chairs between a trellis covered in ivy, she stopped and immediately turned to face him. “I don’t need you to speak to my brother.”

“Elizabeth.” Harry exhaled loudly.

“My name is Lizzie.” She corrected sharply, cutting off anything he might have said. “My _mother_ is Elizabeth.” She folded her hands in front of her. “The way you can tell between us is _she’s_ the one making all the decisions.”

Harry let out a reluctant, rueful laugh at her unfortunately true statement. “Fine, then--Lizzie. But only if you’ll call me Harry. My mother refuses to call me that as she thinks Henry sounds more dignified. And my mother’s preference of Henry is most likely why I prefer Harry.”

Lizzie’s lips quirked up of their own accord in amusement. “Very well.”

“I wasn’t doing anything nefarious,” Harry began, pointing his thumb back around the manor. He then gave her a solemn look. “But if you prefer I not speak to him, I’ll respect that.”

Lizzie tucked a tendril of hair back behind her ear, and she at least had the decency to look contrite. “I just don’t think it’ll be necessary for you to speak to him again.”

Harry nodded, Lizzie nervously twisted her hands, and a telling, heavy silence hung around them.

Finally, Harry looked to his shuffling feet. “When was he diagnosed?”

Lizzie’s mouth fell open and she brought a stunned hand to her chest. She waited a few moments to respond before beginning tremulously. “We began to notice when he was a toddler. Then took him to various specialists. And it took a few years to get a definitive diagnosis.”

Harry sighed. “You’d be surprised how many of the students—and teachers—at London School of Economics fall somewhere within the Autism Spectrum.”

“Richard’s very bright.”

Harry grinned widely. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“But…….he doesn’t do well with people.” Lizzie sadly looked out onto the lawn. “We’re hoping to get him some exposure to others like him, along with those who have a deep understanding of Richard’s special needs.”

He came a little closer to her. “You know, I think there’s a school, an institute, not far from here.”

“We _know_ where it is.” Lizzie bit out defensively. “We know where every school, institute, and home specializing in Autism care and education is in all of Britain and western Europe.” Her hand reached up to finger a mother-of-pearl plated white rose pendant hanging off her neck. “But we can’t begin to see about enrolling in any of these places until we secure our inheritance through—”

She cut herself off when she saw the realization begin to dawn on his face. He looked at her with understanding and sympathy.

“You couldn’t have the inheritance administered by proxy—but in his name?”

Lizzie shook her head. “We fear when my father’s family hear of Richard’s entrance into one of these schools, they would petition the court to have the line of succession transferred back to my uncles. And there has been some bad blood between my grandmother, my uncles, and my mother. It’s not assured that my father’s family would concern themselves with providing for us.”

Harry nodded again. “I see.”

Lizzie chewed on her lower lip. “So, it seems the way my brother can be cared for and my family guaranteed protection, is for me to marry the boy who poured black tea leaves into the Wisley Golf Club Member’s Pool in the dead of summer.”

Harry laughed loudly, lowering his face but timidly looking up at her through his lashes. “I’m ashamed to admit I was twenty years old when I masterminded that, so ‘ _boy_ ’ is being too kind in forgiving me for childish acts.”

“My father always said that admitting behavior is childish is the first sign you’re ready to be a grown-up.” Lizzie gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And even if we haven’t yet fully achieved the status, I hope we’ve both made great strides toward being adults.”

“Well, it seems our mothers are hell-bent on thrusting us into adulthood.” Harry agreed with a touch of sadness. “So, we’d better get ready.”

Lizzie smirked. “Here’s a step in the right direction…..” she stepped up closer to him and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Lizzie York…….. your fiancée.”

Harry laughed lightly and brought her hand to his lips. “Harry Tudor. It’s my pleasure.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As preparations for the wedding go on, Harry and Lizzie struggle. But they also find common ground in that struggle. And take important steps.....toward one another.

“I know it seems overwhelming, Lizzie dear.” Margaret tried for a soothing voice as she laid a large, glossy-paged book on the side table for her to look over. “Going from engagement to wedding in six weeks. But luckily for you, this is where our two families having money comes in handy.” She put a light hand on top of Lizzie’s where it laid on the arm of the chair. “I’ve hired the best wedding planner in the nation. You need do nothing but consent to everything and look delighted. We need a joyful bride. All else will be arranged by me.”

“No.” Lizzie spoke firmly, looking out the window onto the fine stone garden of Coldharbour House.

Margret Beaufort looked as though she had swallowed poison, but after a moment, plastered on a fake smile. “No?”

Lizzie turned back to face Margaret and gave her the same fake smile. “I am the bride, I would hope my wishes would be considered.”

“Oh, of course.” Margaret nodded with a hand to her chest, finally sitting in the armchair opposite Lizzie. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. Of course, we will run everything past you. I just assumed because you insist on keeping your little job at the museum—”

“—I _do_.”

Margaret’s face again contorted into a grimace before the fake smile returned. “I just meant to offer my _time_. As a woman of peerage, mine is not restricted, whereas yours _is_. By your…… _work_.”

A throat cleared loudly in the drawing room, and finally Harry spoke from where he’d been sitting in the window seat across the room, taking in the scene. “Lizzie would appreciate your help with the arrangements, Mother. But I’m sure—as the bride—all those arrangements must be to her liking _and_ her specifications.”

“Of course,” Margaret looked between her son and Lizzie, shrugging and trying to appear nonchalant. “Although…… it will be difficult to know Lizzie’s wishes at differing times if she’s tied up at the museum. If she would only see the light about turning in her notice—”

“When you can’t immediately reach Lizzie, you can consult with Elizabeth.” He stood and walked to them, giving Lizzie a sly smirk that his mother couldn’t see. “Surely Lizzie’s mother would have somewhat better of an idea than _you_ as to her daughter’s wishes. And she too is a woman of peerage with greater free time to devote to the wedding-planning.” He puffed his chest out, folding his hands in front of him. “What a gift it would be to Lizzie and me and our future family solidarity, if you and Elizabeth York could work _together_ on this.”

Margaret’s eyes clenched shut in near-pain, but her back straightened. “Of _course_. Though, she does have five children still living at home.”

“And a live-in nanny along with many other full-time employees that may allow her the time to help with her eldest daughter’s wedding.” Lizzie spoke with the same barely-restrained joy at throwing Lady Margaret off her game that she saw twinkling in Harry’s eyes.

Lady Margaret looked over at Lizzie, even her fake smile not quite reaching her eyes when she uttered through clenched teeth. “Shall I ring her now?”

Lizzie nodded with a smirk. “That would be lovely, I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

Margaret left the room and Harry slunk down into the armchair she’d vacated, winking at Lizzie. She groaned as she leaned back into her chair, but giggled slightly.

“I don’t know why you think if I was opposed to a wedding planned by your mother, I’d be overjoyed with a wedding planned by your mother _and mine_.”

“Having to include your mother will be a thorn in my mother’s paw.” He laughed in return but leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees, expelling an exhausted breath. “And maybe it’ll divide her energy—if she’s expending it clashing with your mother on, I don’t know, …..color schemes, then she’s more likely to let something that _you_ want slip past her into the wedding plans.”

“A variation of divide and conquer, then?” She wiggled her brows.

He grinned, but shrugged. “Trust me, you don’t want all of her energy focused on you. When she has a vision of something, she doesn’t let up.”

“And you?” Lizzie grinned back at him. “Do you have ideas about the wedding?”

“Well, for the service, I’m assuming I’ll be told where to stand and apparently the pastor will ask me a few questions.” He paused when she laughed. “As for the reception, as long as I don’t have to dance—”

“—you _will_ have to dance.” She told him resolutely, but with a playful smirk. “You have to dance at your own wedding!”

“I can’t dance.” He stood from the chair again, crossing his arms and shaking his head nervously. “And you don’t want me messing up the whole wedding by trying.”

She stood too, mirroring his stance and beaming up at him. “Your bride demands it.”

“Yeah, well,” he ducked his head, looking up at her shyly. “we’ll see.”

They stood in silence across from one another for several long beats, looking around the room or near—but never directly _at_ —the other’s face.

Harry’s eyes widened in sudden remembrance. “Oh, I forgot.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny box. “This arrived just this morning for me to give to you.”

He opened the box to reveal a ring. A white gold band with a center flower cluster of white diamonds about the size of a five-pence coin, surrounded by a flowering halo of rubies.

Lizzie blinked several times before taking a deep breath. “It’s very beautiful, Harry.”

“It belonged to my grandmother, Catherine. And it was in her family before that, she brought it along with her from France.” He handed her the box. “It was in my Uncle Jasper’s care until word of our engagement.”

She took the box he offered and just stared at it for several moments, not knowing what to do.

He inhaled sharply. “My god, I’m sorry.” He shook his head in embarrassment. “You want me to put it on you—”

“No, its alright.” She shrugged, taking the ring out of the box and slipping it on her ring finger. She let out a long breath, suddenly experiencing a very anti-climactic feeling as she flipped the box over in her fingers.

He rocked back and forth on his heels. “So…………..”

“Yeah.” She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “So…………”

 

 

 

 

 

 “It’s _enough_. I don’t know how much more I can take.” Lizzie seethed at Harry through clenched teeth, trying not to take the knife from their lunch table into her white-knuckled hand. “You need to speak to her.”

Harry looked across the restaurant at his mother, who had slinked of to speak to Lord de la Pole after the three of them had finished their lunch. She chatted with the older man amiably—because apparently, all animosity between their family and the Tudors over the last twenty-five years was instantly wiped clean with the announcement of Harry’s engagement to a York daughter.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do.” Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. “She’s gone off the rails on this one. If you’re operating under the belief that she still listens to me, that would be a belief I had to let go of weeks ago.”

Lizzie shook her head in frustration. “I’m having peonies at my wedding—I _hate_ peonies. I’m having vanilla-buttercream as my cake flavor— _why_? When I could have red velvet, or chocolate-hazelnut ganache, or any dozens of other flavors that aren’t _completely fucking boring_. It’s because……” she fixed her back ram-rod straight and her voice took on a perfect impersonation of Lady Margaret Beaufort. “….. ‘ _vanilla-buttercream is the least offensive of all the flavors, Lizzie, dear. We want the cake to be memorable….but not shockingly so’—_ I mean what kind of warped mind even thinks like that, Harry?! _”_

His lip quirked at the impression. “It’s a cake, Lizzie. Is it really worth starting World War III with my mother?”

Lizzie groaned lightly. “No, it’s not. Which is why I gave in—on the cake, on the flowers, on the brass band instead of the singer at the reception, on the guest list of 800…..when I’ve only ever met _maybe_ 150.”

“Lizzie.” Harry downed the last of the scotch in his tumbler. “Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘ _pick your battles_ ’?”

Her eyelids fluttered, and her pink lips formed a faux-innocent pout. “No, never. The only phrase I ever heard in the cave I’ve been living in my whole life is ‘ _don’t be a condescending ass to your over-stressed fiancée’_.” She slapped her palm down on the table. “Jesus, Harry!”

“I’m not trying to be condescending,” he gently reached for her hand. “but I’ve lived with her my whole life, and…....” his jaw clenched. “….my mother’s not easy.”

Lizzie pulled the hand away and rubbed her fingers against her temple. “And you think my mother _is_ easy?!”

“No, I most certainly do _not_!!” Harry’s voice rose enough that they both looked around the restaurant to see if anyone noticed. Luckily no one had and so he lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think they’re _both_ domineering, ambitious, control-freaks. And I think the reason you’re over-stressed is because you’re fighting them both too much on insignificant things!”

Her face fell, and she rubbed the back of her neck. “You think this is _insignificant_?”

“I think we’re going to be fighting them both for many years to come as they try to control our lives,” Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair. “so, save your strength for the fights that actually matter.”

“Of course you would think that.” She replied in a soft, hurt voice as she looked to her lap. “This one’s not about you—it’s only about me.”

“What difference does it make if you use my mother’s clothier for your wedding gown?” Harry threw up his hands. “He’s offering to design you an original dress—a hundred labor hours and tens of thousand pounds on something you’ll only wear _one fucking day of your life_.”

“I wanted the dress to be MINE!!” Lizzie threw her napkin on her empty plate. “Why the fuck can’t anyone involved in this thing understand that? They have entire reality tv shows about how important wedding dresses are to the bride.”

Harry put his elbows on the table and head in his hands in defeat, mumbling under his breath, “I’ve seen them. And most of the brides come off as spoiled, conceited brats.”

Lizzie nearly cried as she looked up to the ceiling, and Harry instantly felt a tug on his heart when he saw tears gather around the rim of her eyes.

“I’ve been dreaming of my wedding since I was a girl, and all I want is the dress I’ve always dreamed of.” She shot a nasty glare at Margaret’s back from across the room. “Your mother and my mother’s scheming has made sure I’m getting _nothing_ of what I dreamed: not the season, not the bridesmaids, not the church venue………” she rubbed her eyes and let out a deep sigh, her frustration wearily seeping the strength out of her bones. “……..and _certainly_ not the groom.”

She was still rubbing her eyes when Harry looked over at her, his mouth falling open as he felt whatever had been tugging on his heart snap free. He harshly pushed back from the table. “Alright—I’m out.”

She opened her eyes and looked around in shock. “What? Harry…….”

He stood and looked down at her. “I’m sure my mother will take care of the bill. And she and her driver will certainly drop you at your flat.” He began to walk backwards towards the door. “I’m taking the tube.”

Lizzie stared after him as he walked out of the restaurant, then slumped back in her chair and threw up her hands, looking around the room in disbelief. She sat there alone for several long minutes, dumbfounded and angry that he would leave her so suddenly.

Until she remembered what she said.

She bolted from her chair, not bothering to tell Lady Margaret, and not caring that the restaurant staff most likely thought she was dashing on her dine. She didn’t stop at the coat-check on her way out the restaurant, and instantly regretted it—the London rain was falling heavily, and her umbrella was still inside.

But the tremor she felt radiating in her chest did not allow her to think on it long, and instead she looked frantically up and down the street with the wet strands of her hair clung to her face and neck. She thought of the map of the West End and where Harry’s flat was, trying with all her might to determine where the Underground entrance for the area was located.

She ran off in the direction she thought he might be headed and hoped she hadn’t spent too long in her chair, seething in seemingly-righteous indignation that he would leave, and had missed him heading into the underground labyrinth. She turned the corner and was instantly thankful that she was entering into an arranged marriage with a very tall man.

For she saw his head with its distinguishable mop of dark auburn curls floating high above the other pedestrians and she let out a giggle of relief before shouting after him, “HARRY!”

He turned immediately at the sound of his name and his eyes widened comically when he took in the drenched sight of her running toward him. “Lizzie?!”

She finally caught up with him and laughed when she saw the heavy drops of rain catching on his eyelashes. “You’re soaked.” She grabbed onto his forearms as she tried to catch her breath. “Where’s your umbrella?”

He laughed too as he lifted his raincoat high above his head, leaning in close to her as he tried to shield them from the downpour. “I didn’t have one. We were sharing yours, remember?”

She did. She remembered walking the short distance from Lady Margaret’s car to the restaurant with Harry huddled close to her under the canopy of her yellow umbrella, his pinky finger brushing against the back of her hand as they both held the handle. It’d sent a fissure of electricity down to her toes and she’d had to give her mind a shake when she thought for a moment of how domestic it was.

He looked her over from head to toe. She wasn’t as wet as he was, but she was getting there. He laughed a little louder and quirked a questioning brow. “Speaking of your umbrella………?”

“I left it at the coat-check of the restaurant. And I’m sure your mother is currently planning painful and inventive torture for the two of us for leaving her at the restaurant without notice.” Lizzie giggled and futilely wiped the rain from her forehead. “But it didn’t matter……I had to find you.” She bit her lip in shame. “Once I realized……once I realized what I’d said.”

He looked down to his sopping-wet loafers. “Lizzie.”

She reached down and took his hand. “I didn’t mean it, Harry.”

“But the thing is……..” he squeezed her hand and looked up into her eyes. “you did. I know you did.” He held up his other hand to cut her off when she began to stammer with a response. “But the other thing is—I’m not even mad at you for saying it. Or even for _meaning_ it.”

Her eyes fell shut. “Okay.”

“You didn’t choose me. This isn’t what you wanted.” He’d been looking around the street and found a covered entrance to a small used bookstore nearby. He tugged on the hand he’d still not let go and walked them over. He gave her a small smile when he was able to lower his raincoat. “And I didn’t choose you. This isn’t what I wanted, either.”

She stared at him numbly, repeating, “Okay.”

“I’m a coward for leaving the restaurant. I wasn’t angry. I was scared.” He shut his eyes in shame. “Because I—I don’t know how to do this, Lizzie. How to not give into my frustrations and fear. How to keep some small part of myself while it seems everything around me is changing.” He let out a long exhale. “I don’t know how to do this without feeling like I’m ruining your life.”

His eyes instantly opened when he heard her begin to cackle loudly—laughing so long and so hard that her face turned red and she began to double over. “And you think _I do_?” She was able to gasp out when she finally got her amusement under control. “God, Harry. You just described every feeling I’ve had since my mother told me this was happening.”

He smiled in relief. “Truly?”

“I have _absolutely_ no clue how to do this, either.” She put a hand on his upper arm and rubbed it. “Maybe that’s why I felt so mad about you not speaking to your mother on my behalf. Because I’m not sure we’ll be able to do this—not just the wedding, but the whole _marriage_ —unless we have each other’s backs. Doing it alone is clearly _not going to work_.”

His eyes grew soft and fond as he looked down at her. “If we could only work together……”

“We’ve both been going it alone against them our whole lives, and how did we end up? Both of us still puppets for our mothers’ ambitions.” She reached up to push back a lock of wet hair that had fallen on his forehead. “I wouldn’t have guessed this twenty-two days ago, but I think if we’re to truly be able to live our own lives, the best way for us to do that—is _together_.”

He nodded soundly. “I’m sorry for before, it’s not insignificant.” He grabbed the hand that had been at his temple before it fell back to her side, and he squeezed it. “I’ll talk to my mother. You should, of course, be able to choose your own gown.”

She lifted a brow and the side of her mouth quirked up. “Oh yeah? How do you think you’ll get her to agree?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s probably going to include threatening to have you walk down the aisle amidst 800 guests in only your knickers if she doesn’t.” He let out a breathy laugh. “So, that should be a fun conversation.”

She shook her head in amusement. “Oh, I see how it is. For the rest of our lives, if we don’t get our way with either one of them, the threat is always gonna be ‘ _Lizzie in her knickers’_.”

“Come on.” He winked as he began pulling her back in the direction of the restaurant. “You need your jacket. And _we_ need your umbrella.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Have you spoken to him?”

Lizzie looked up from watching her sister Bridget play with her Lego set and turned to Cecily sitting with her on the sofa. “Harry? Of course.” She hugged a sofa pillow closer to her chest. “We speak daily. Though, I unfortunately speak to Lady Margaret multiple times daily.”

“Uh-huh.” Cecily brought her teacup to her mouth to hide a sly smirk. “With Harry, do you speak of what you’ll do after you’re wed?”

“Well, it’s truly fortunate that we found a terraced home in Mayfair so quickly. Lady Margaret wanted our home to be in Kensington, but there were none immediately available—and that adds time to our commutes to work—so in the end, availability was what led to Harry and me getting what we wanted.” Lizzie sighed and laid her head on the back of the sofa. “It’s been hell trying to arrange to have all our possessions set up in the house before we return from Greece. It seems as though every waking moment of my life has been about setting up house and preparing for the wedding.”

“Lizzie, for fuck’s sake!” Cecily groaned, laying her head back next to her sister’s. “Stop thinking about the logistics of your wedding and where you’re going to put Grandma Rivers’ mahogany armoire in the new house…….and listen to what I’m asking you!”

Lizzie furrowed her brow. “What are you asking me?”

“In ten days you’ll marry Harry Tudor in the grandest wedding British society has seen in a decade, but then the two of you will get on a yacht to Greece and there will be nothing to distract you—” Cecily wiggled her brows suggestively. “—have you thought about or have the two of you discussed if sex is going to be a regular thing between you guys.”

“Oh.” Lizzie’s paled, her mouth fluttering open like a dead fish before she nervously looked to her fingernails and whispered. “Um, no. No, we haven’t.”

Cecily nodded pensively. “Why not?”

“Because there’s so many damn questions!” Lizzie suddenly groaned, her entire body slumping while she covered her eyes with palms. “Seriously, so many damn questions are rolling through my mind that I don’t even know where to start!”

“Okay.” Cecily sat up straighter. “Say them to me. Say them out loud.” She then remembered and looked down to her younger sister still playing on the floor. “Bridget? It’s after three o’clock. Why don’t you go to the kitchen and see if Cook is finished making those gooseberry tarts and will let you have one?”

Bridget abandoned her Legos and stood from the floor. “Okay!”

Cecily waited until Bridget had skipped fully from the room before turning to Lizzie once again. “Why are you going so mental? You’re not a virgin, you’ve had sex with all your boyfriends before.”

“Two, Cecily. Two boyfriends!” Lizzie nearly screeched. “And Harry never _has been_ or _will be_ a boyfriend. He’s a fiancée—then a husband. We didn’t meet on a blind date and then go to movies and dance clubs together, falling in love along the way. I vaguely remember him from three occasions at father’s golf club many years ago and then suddenly we’re tied together by the House of Lords and the Church of England!”

Cecily swallowed loudly, her smile falling from her face. “Okay, point taken. I’d be going mental, too.” She took Lizzie’s hand in hers. “Do you _like_ him?”

Lizzie let her eyes flutter shut. “He’s……. _nice_. A little reserved, straight-laced, practical. He’s not anyone that I would’ve gravitated to on my own—we sort of view the world differently. But he’s a decent man. I’m actually quite lucky when you consider arranged marriages are like flipping a coin as to what sort of personality you get.”

“Well, that’s good.” Cecily nodded, trying to smile encouragingly. “I guess.”

“I think we could work together to be good…..friends.” Lizzie sighed, looking to the hands in her lap. “But as far as passionate lust for each other? Or even love?” She shook her head sadly. “It’s just not there. I don’t know if it will ever be.”

“Well, maybe that’s good too.” Cecily nudged Lizzie’s knee with her own. “Father had passionate lust coursing through him. He felt it for mother—” she rolled her eyes and looked out the window. “—but then again, he also felt it for Jane Shore and many others.”

“Harry wouldn’t do that.” Lizzie said simply, shaking her head.

Cecily furrowed a brow. “How do you know?”

“I just do. I loved father, but I always knew he was the type of man who would never be satisfied with what he had. I don’t get that from Harry.” Lizzie shrugged matter-of-factly, but then her expression changed to one of sadness. “But then that’s part of the problem. If we’ll never feel fervent, complete passion and love for one another—and Harry will never accept it or try to look for it outside our marriage—I’m afraid one day I’ll feel horribly guilty for denying him the opportunity to experience it.”

“Well, you’re thinking of far-off future problems that may resolve themselves, when there is a more immediate one hanging over you.” Cecily rolled her eyes again when Lizzie stared at her blankly, then continued on exasperatedly. “Your wedding night, your honeymoon! Are you going to sleep with your husband?!”

Lizzie’s eyes widened. “Well, I don’t wish to enter into this with any restrictions that may……. hurt his feelings or stunt any progress we’ve made. And we _will_ be married.” Lizzie looked at the ruby and diamond ring on her left ring finger. “So….I guess that would be up to him.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Lizzie?” Cate Buckingham called out through the office. “There’s a knight outside in plated-armor who says he’s come to win your hand in marriage.”

Lizzie quirked a brow without looking up from the papers on her desk. “Both the subject and execution of that joke were awkward, Cate.”

Cate finally poked her head through the open door of her Lizzie’s small room and grinned widely. “I agree, joke was lame. But Harry Tudor is indeed outside in the stairwell wanting to know if he can come in.”

“Oh.” Lizzie’s mouth fell open in surprise and she dropped her pen to the desk. “Of course, send him in.” She sat with bated breath, watching through her office window as he walked into the outer office bullpen and toward her tiny room. She took her reading glasses off her nose with a tentative smile when he came into her doorway. “Harry.”

“Hello, Lizzie.” He smiled but put his fists deep in his pockets, nervously looking around the glorified closet she’d been given when she came to work at the museum. “It’s a bit presumptuous of me, as it’s last minute and I’m sure you’re very busy, but I was hoping to take you to lunch.”

“Um, well, I was planning on working straight through, to sort-of make up for the weeks I’ll be off for the wedding events and………” she gulped, thinking of the honeymoon. “….. _other things_. But I’m sure I can take a few minutes, if you wouldn’t mind just getting something from the food trucks outside.”

“No, not at all, that sounds brilliant. It’s lovely outside, we could sit on the grass.” He smiled widely but then looked down to the bare legs shown by her skirt when she pushed her chair back from her desk. “Or we could sit on the benches.”

She reached for her jacket hanging on the hook she had nailed directly to the wall, and felt embarrassed looking back to him, maneuvering carefully around the small space between her desk and the wall. “Don’t even have room in here for coat-rack.”

He gave her a light laugh with a self-deprecating smile. “I had an overly-inflated ego when I got my first job, but then it deflated quickly when my first day I was basically shoved in a broom closet with a desk.” He touched the glass where she could look out onto the bullpen. “At least you have a window.”

“That looks out onto _other_ depressingly-small offices.” She chuckled lowly, but shrugged with a bright smile. “But still, I’d work in the basement steam room if it meant I’d have this job.”

“I love my job, too. Something that Mother hasn’t ever understood.” He took her jacket and held it open for her to slip her arms through. He had an apologetic look when she turned back to him. “I…..I hope you don’t take it personally when she speaks of your job as if it’s an inconvenience to her.”

“I don’t.” She closed her door behind them as they walked out of the offices into the main museum. They both paused as a school group following a tour-guide passed in front of them. She looked pensively at the small children holding hands as they walked along. “But it’s going to be an uphill battle isn’t it? She’s not going to think it’s ‘ _appropriate_ ’ that your wife continue working after we’re married, is she?”

He didn’t look at her as they continued on, but she could see him shake his head. “But we’ll fight her expectations on that _together_. I know I dropped the ball by not taking your side on the wedding dress, but it was because I didn’t understand what a big deal it was for you until I saw how upset you were.” He looked at her resolutely as he opened the main exit doors for her. “But you wanting to keep a job that gives you a sense of independence and purpose outside your Great Noble House identity? _That_ I understand completely.”

They went outside to the food trucks to get their lunches, and he paid while she found two seats on a nearby bench. They sat down, quietly watching the many tourists amble about as they took the foil off their hand-held meals.

“Your focus is Antiquity, isn’t it?” He asked her uncertainly, unwrapping the scarf around his neck. “That’s Ancient Greece and Rome?”

She nodded around her mouthful of food, swallowing loudly before she spoke again. “Yes, but my primary focus right now is the Tomb of the Kings in Paphos.” She continued when she saw the blank look on his face. “In Cyprus. But it’s still Mediterranean, and still 4th Century BC to 3rd Century AD. So, you’re on the right track.”

“Ah, see, damn it.” he shook his head amusedly, taking his first bite. “And here I was going to dazzle you with my knowledge of Euclid and Diaphantus.”

“I _am_ dazzled by your knowledge of them—but only by the fact that _you’re_ so knowledgeable. Otherwise, I’m not so impressed by the fathers of geometry and algebra.” She laughed ruefully, letting a shiver roll through her shoulders. “I still have post-traumatic stress nightmares from my university mathematics courses.”

Harry put his food down on his foil. “I came to see you because my mother called this morning to tell me she’d like to put in furniture orders for us, for the new house.” He began again slowly, carefully, and she could tell nervously. “I told her she was over-stepping, but then she reminded me that they needed to be put in very soon if the furniture is to be delivered by the time we return from Greece.”

“Well, I think we can tell her to cool her jets on that until we have more time to do it on our own. There’s no need for the house to be fully-furnished by the time we return.” Lizzie shrugged slightly, rolling her eyes. “We both have furniture from our flats that we can use for a while.”

“So, does that mean…….? I guess, I’m not real sure…...” He scrubbed a hand through his curls and blew out a loud breath before going on without hesitation. “Are we going to be sharing a bed, Lizzie?”

She nearly choked on the bite of her sandwich, sputtering around a cough. He reached down to grab her can of soda resting on the ground at her feet, handing it to her before soothingly patting her back.

He gave a small smile that looked very close to a grimace. “So, I guess you’re as skittish about that particular question as I am.” He let out a short laugh. “My friend Jack thinks it’s bloody mad that it’s 2018 and yet I’m still not sure when I get married in nine days if I’m going to be sleeping with my wife.”

Lizzie kept swallowing even after the soda can was down from her mouth. “Well, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s 2018 and none of the articles in Cosmo are about arranged marriages anymore.” She blew out a breath, then chewed on her bottom lip. “Well, your mother’s marriages were all arranged—does she have an opinion as to arranged-marital intimacies?”

Harry really did grimace this time. “Yeah, no way in hell I’m having that conversation with her.”

“Your stepfather?”

He shook his head. “Another _hard_ pass.”

A burst of laughter broke past her lips. “Well, short of calling my Grandma Cecily—which is also _not happening_ —I really don’t have too many I can consult who have any authority on the issue of arranged marriage and………..”

“—sex.” He finished for her.

“Yeah.” She swallowed again, letting her eyelids flutter. “My father was of a Great Noble House, but he didn’t marry for duty. He didn’t do anything for duty.” She looked down to her hands. “Including remain faithful to my mother—whom he shucked duty to marry and whom he claimed to love.”

Harry nodded soundly, looking out onto the couples and families lounging on the grass across from them. “My mother never strayed from any of her marriages—not that there was ever much to stray from—but she didn’t remain faithful for any true reasons like genuine respect for your partner or care for their feelings. No, instead she never strayed because of other’s perceived condemnations and an over-exaggerated sense of piety.”

“Hmm. I see.”

“Do you know how I learned about fidelity?” He looked over and saw her shake her head. “From my Uncle Jasper.”

“I thought your Uncle Jasper never married.” Both her brow and her lip quirked up. “Was that a joke that fell flat?”

“No.” He grinned knowingly. “He’s loved my mother since he met her. Only her, and that love has never faltered. Even if it sometimes made for a very lonely life for him.”

“Your mother?” Her eyes grew wide.

“And she loved him, too.” Harry nodded sadly. “I never under understood it. Thought he was a fool for wasting his life when he could have been happy with someone else, and she was a fool for her loveless marriages when she could have had passion. I always believed they had all these choices—I realize now that’s giving them too much blame. But then when I found out you and I were to be married this way, I thought I had no choice but to live a loveless, lonely life—and that’s not giving myself enough responsibility.”

She looked down at her soda can as she drummed her fingernails against it. “So, which is it for us—blame or responsibility?”

“There’s an in-between. For me, for us. Because while I’m not madly in love with you, I know I’m not indifferent to you. I care for you, I know you’re a good woman. We may not have had a say in the marriage, but it’s in _our_ care now. And you and I have a responsibility to be there for each other, and to try to make what we have happy.” He sighed deeply, shrugging his shoulders. “I know that’s not a grand declaration of love and passion, but it doesn’t need to be right now, and if it never is—”

“—then we can at least be true to it.” She interrupted him, brows lifting when he looked to her and smiled. “A true marriage, with tenderness, respect, support, kindness even.” She shrugged in a mirror of his. “A lot of love poems—they aren’t really about love. They’re about passion…..lust. And while that may inspire a lot of poetry, I notice that a lot of the poets die miserable and alone. Because I don’t think much lasts long, if that’s all you have.”

“My mother wanted me to have the piety to remain true to my vows, but Uncle Jasper showed me the selflessness and caring needed to _mean_ those vows.” He took her hand in his, his heart stuttering when he heard her breath catch and saw a genuine, wistful smile form on her face. “I know we haven’t known each other very long, and I know when we say our vows we _still_ won’t have known each other very long, but I know you deserve to have true partner, a faithful one. And I know if we can work together to create that true marriage you speak of, then I can be that for you. I can keep my promise, and you can keep yours. We will be happy.”

She felt the tear run down her face before she even had the slightest warning she might cry. “I always thought I wouldn’t be happy unless I was with someone who burned to be with me, someone who’d ride across a battlefield just to hear my voice.” She smiled widely, eyes gleaming. “But Harry, thank you for not giving me the grand declaration that you didn’t feel—because what you _did_ just say? It’s given me the first real hope that what we’ll have _will_ be true. And I’m……so grateful for that.”

He laughed happily, shyly looking down to their still-entwined hands. “So?”

“The cruise and Greece will be nice. But coming home and starting our lives together? That will be even nicer.” She bit her lip, squeezing his hand. “My current bed should be big enough for the two of us, at least until we have enough time to go furniture shopping together.”

He gave her a grin that split his face. But then his eyes widened, looking down at her wrist. “Oh wow, I’ve kept you—”

She looked at her watch that he showed her, mouth dropping open. “Yeah, I’ve gotta get back.”

He stood from the bench, offering a hand to pull her up. “You’re spending the night at York Manor tonight, correct?”

“Yes, my half-brother Thomas and Uncle Anthony are arriving to be here for the wedding.” She grabbed her trash and offered to take his, depositing both in the bin. “Oh, and for the cocktail party at your mother’s tomorrow.”

“Oh god.” He rubbed the heels of his palm over his eyes. “That should be the equivalent of walking barefoot on hot coals through a drawing room full of my mother’s closest acquaintances.”

“Well, it will give us a chance to show others the united partnership we just spoke about.” She smiled widely at him, grabbing the scarf he’d discarded over lunch and wrapping it around his neck. “But, in full disclosure, the housekeeper at York Manor has just given me a dozen Xanax to get through the next couple of weeks, and I will be taking the first tomorrow night, so it may not be as torturous for me as it is for you.”

“Your housekeeper’s only offering the Xanax _now_ when we’ve been engaged for over a month?” He paused when she burst into laughter and patted her hand where it rested on his chest. “Well, so long as you’re not too stoned to dance tomorrow night.”

“Why’s that matter to you?” She quirked a teasing brow. “You won’t be dancing.”

“Actually,” he bashfully looked to his shoes. “I’ve, um….over the last few weeks, I’ve taken a few classes.”

She looked at him blankly for several beats, before clapping and letting out a joyous laugh. “ _Harry_!”

“Yeah, well, don’t expect too much. Even the instructor said I had zero natural ability.” He laughed back at her. “Plus, the class was mostly all couples taking it for their weddings, and since I wanted it to be a surprise and took it alone, I was paired with the only other single—who was an eighty-seven-year-old widow.”

“Did that little old lady keep her hands to herself?” Lizzie swatted his chest playfully. “I’d hate to have to track her down and fight for what’s mine.”

“If that’s the case—” He scrunched his nose teasingly, pointing behind him as he began backing away. “—I’ll leave before any octogenarians have to be beaten.”

For the first time since her mother announced the engagement, she felt light-hearted and young, watching his grinning face in the warm sun as he retreated. “Thanks for lunch, Harry.” She called out to him. “I’ll save you a dance tomorrow night.”

He gave her one last, long smile before turning and jogging toward the street. She ran back in the building, trying to calculate how much time she’d need this afternoon. It would require having to leave work early and call ahead to York Manor to lie that she was being kept late at work.

But a trip to the shops was needed. If Harry could make the effort to take dancing lessons for her, then she could replace the sensible, almost-puritan swimsuit she’d chosen to take to Greece with something a little skimpier.

And maybe some less-than-sensible underwear was in order, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this fandom doesn't get the traffic that some of the others I've written for do, so I truly appreciate everyone who has read and kudo'd this fic. Thank you.


	3. Yes, We Should

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Engagement party, wedding rehearsal and first meetings. Other firsts as well.

“You look happy.” Jack slapped Harry on the back when he ambled up to the bar beside the dance floor that had been set up in Coldharbour’s vast library. “Cut it out. It looks weird.”

“Thank you.” Harry just laughed as the bartender handed him two glasses. He turned from the bar to make his way back into the crowd.

“ _Hey_. Come on, man.” Jack stopped him, shaking his head and pointing to the two drinks. “If you’re already sloshed, don’t make it worse by pounding them two at a time. _Pleasantly-buzzed-enough-to forget-his-troubles_ Harry Tudor is only a one or two drink line between _passed-out-on-the-floor-and-can’t-remember-his-name_ Harry Tudor. And you won’t be a _less_ sloppy drunk just because you’re in a three-piece suit.”

“No, I’ll just be a sloppy drunk in a three-piece suit.” Harry chuckled, lifting one of his glasses in salute. “Not to worry. Not drunk.”

Jack snatched the toothpick from the martini in Harry’s right hand and chewed the olive off the end. “Have you moved on to something a little more pill, powder, or smoke-oriented to get through your misery about all this.”

Harry groaned and turned back to the bartender. “Can I get another olive, please?” He put the drinks back on the bartop, then smacked his friend on the back of the head. “Not stoned, either. And will you please not speak of my misery so loudly while we’re at _my engagement party_.”

Jack grinned widely behind the rim of his tumbler of gin. “Seriously, who’s the martini for?”

“Lizzie.”

“Wha-hut?” Jack sputtered out a laugh. “Got you trained pretty good already, huh?”

“I’m doing something _nice_ , okay?” Harry rolled his eyes. “She’s just spent the last twenty minutes listening to Granny Welles wax poetic about my half-uncle ‘ _my gem, my wonderful Richard’_ , all the while interjecting when she can with glowing words about my mother—something which is _not easy_ for her......or _any_ of us.” He let out a deep sigh. The bartender replaced the olive, so he grabbed the drinks and began to turn again. “The least I can do is get her a drink.”

“Hold up.” Jack put his hand on Harry’s chest, stopping him again. “You look good.” He looked him over from head to toe. “Real good. Who dressed you?”

Harry tilted his head in exasperation. “I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself.”

“Yeah, but I’ve seen what you look like when you do,” Jack let out a full-body shudder. “….and this isn’t it. _Hey Richie_!” He shouted over to their nearby friend and clucked his tongue at Harry as the third man came over. “Doesn’t Harry look good?”

Richie lifted a brow. “Is this a trick question?”

“Somebody dressed you.” Jack pointed at Harry when he opened his mouth. “And don’t say your mother, ‘cause that’s a Dolce&Gabbana tie and pocket square, and she hasn’t patronized non-British designers in over—wait a minute,” his eyes widened in shock. ‘’what are you doing wearing a pocket square?”

“Oh, Lizzie got it for him. The tie, as well.” Richie added, but paled when Harry glared at him. “What? That’s what Maggie said.”

“Who’s Maggie?” Jack then turned to Richie with wide eyes.

“Maggie Clarence. Lizzie’s cousin.” Richie answered after Jack’s face contorted in incredulity. “What? I didn’t have a date for this thing, or the wedding, and Lizzie set us up.”

“Well, Christ! I know Lizzie better than either of you.” Jack shook his head, looking back and forth between the two. “Why didn’t she set _me_ up with somebody?”

“At Richie’s behest, I asked if she knew of any nice girls who might also need dates who’d go with him, and she thought of Maggie.” Harry frowned, then deadpanned. “And she didn’t think of Maggie for _you_ , because if Lizzie knows you like you claim, she knows you don’t go out with _nice girls_ —only cheap tarts.”

Richie amiably slapped Jack on the back before walking back to Maggie. “Sorry, mate.”

“And you _did_ know her better than either of us.” Harry rolled his eyes at his dumbfounded friend. “That’s _not_ the case anymore.”

“You _like_ her.” Jack grinned toothily. “Don’t you?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Would that be the worst thing in the world?”

“No, not at all.” Jack shook his head, still grinning. “But you typically have three inches of steel wrapped around your brain instead of a skull, so I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Harry looked across the room to see Lizzie, holding her own while up against his mother and (somehow _worse_ ) grandmother as she stood with them beside the great stone fireplace. She looked all lit-up. And he hoped it wasn’t only due to the firelight, the deep blue satin of her off-the-shoulder cocktail dress, and the diamond riviere necklace and drop earrings she’d borrowed from Elizabeth for the night’s event.

She caught his eye and smiled warmly at him. Suddenly _he felt_ all lit-up. “Definitely not the worst thing in the world to like my fiancée.”

He made his way over to the three of them with his and Lizzie’s drinks, but he put them on the mantle instead.

“I hope those shoes aren’t your favorites.” Harry held out his hand for Lizzie. “Even with the dance classes, I will likely step on your feet. And often.”

She giggled, putting her hand in his. “I intentionally eschewed fashion and wore durable shoes that I couldn’t care less about, specifically for this moment.”

 

 

 

“You weren’t kidding about stepping on my feet.” Lizzie sat at Margaret’s kitchen table rubbing her big toe.

“Hey, I was perfectly fine with being the dork economics professor who can’t dance,” Harry closed the refrigerator and brought the ice pack over, kneeling at her feet. “So really, your bruised toes are on you.”

“Well, I have news for you—you’re _still_ the dork economics professor who can’t dance.” She winked good-naturedly. “And I’m not entirely sure my bruised toes _are_ on me…..mainly because I can’t feel them right now.”

He stood again and went to a drawer, taking out a sheet of blister-packets and placing it next to her elbow. “Paracetamol.”

She quirked a brow at him. “Seriously? Your two left feet injure your fiancée and you can’t even pop them out for her?” She watched as he reached for the sheet, but stopped him, finally grinning. “Messin’ with you, Tudor.” They both laughed as she got the pills out. “Besides, I have a bigger job for you.”

“Oh yeah?”

She bit her lip and pointed back towards the library. “Will you get my drink for me?”

He chuckled at her, but made his way back into the crowded room—smiling, nodding, and shaking hands with a few well-wishers along his path toward the abandoned drinks on the mantle. He thought he’d catch a break with regards to getting back to Lizzie in good time since he saw that his mother and Elizabeth York were deep in conversation before the fireplace. But it was not to be.

“Henry, good.” Margaret put her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Elizabeth and I need to speak to you and Lizzie.”

“Somewhere private, if at all possible.” Elizabeth added, looking around for her daughter.

“Well, you’re in luck,” Harry grabbed both drinks and gestured with his chin. “she’s in the kitchen, icing her toes.”

The three of them made their way in and Lizzie giggled as she rubbed her feet. “It’s a good thing I still have eight days ‘til the wedding, Margaret. Or your son may have just made it impossible for me to walk down the aisle.”

“It’s the walking down the aisle part we need to tell you about.” Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively. “Margaret and I have decided it’s your brother Thomas who’ll walk you, instead of your brother Richard.”

“Thomas was practically raised by your father, Lizzie.” Margaret reminded unnecessarily. “All of society and the Great Noble Houses remember as such, so it will be as if a York is walking you.”

Lizzie paled and rose from her chair despite the pain in her feet. “But Richard _is_ a York. I love Thomas completely, but why on earth would I—”

“This is better. Surely you must see that, Elizabeth.” Elizabeth interrupted, making Lizzie blanch at using her full name. “Thomas has already said yes.”

“You already asked him?” Lizzie shouted in indignation. “You had no right to do that!”

“Of course I did.” Elizabeth shook her head in disdain that Lizzie was arguing. “Thomas is _my_ son, Richard is _my_ son, you are _my_ daughter.”

“And it’s _my_ wedding! Something the two of you—” Lizzie seethed out, gesturing between Elizabeth and Margaret. “—have _outrageously_ forgotten.” Her eyes grew moist, she clasped her hands together at her chest and she looked to the ceiling. “Richard and I have been practicing for weeks. I even marked the exact distance we’d need to walk down the aisle at the cathedral. He’s done so well. What am I to tell him?”

Margaret scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Someone like _that_ won’t need to be told anything.”

Lizzie was almost-instantly in Margaret’s face, barely able to utter through clenched teeth in her rage. “That ought to be the last word you ever speak about my brother, _Lady Margaret_.”

“This was _my_ decision, not Margaret’s.” Elizabeth spoke up. “There are just too many variables involved. You may have practiced, but is Richard prepared for the size of York Minster? The choir and organ? The 800 people?”

“I didn’t want York Minster!” Lizzie shouted again. “I wanted the York Manor chapel!”

“York Manor chapel _doesn’t fit_ 800 people.” Margaret remarked to Lizzie as if she were dumb.

Harry spoke to his fiancée’s defense and support. “Well, we didn’t _want_ 800 people.”

Elizabeth came over to lightly take Lizzie’s elbow. “We have to keep up appearances.”

“Despite what _some_ may think,” Lizzie shot a nasty glare to Margaret. “Richard _is_ excited about this, Mum.” Lizzie clenched her eyes shut in defeat. “And I thought we did all this so we wouldn’t have to keep up appearances, so we wouldn’t have to _hide him_ anymore.”

“He’ll be in the front row.” Elizabeth cupped Lizzie’s face in her hands. “We won’t be hiding him.”

Lizzie slowly shook her head as a miserable realization dawned on her. And a sadness descended upon the room as long moments passed before she spoke again.

“You should have told me why you were _really_ making me do this. I thought after Dad and Edward, that I had at least earned your _honesty_.” Lizzie opened her eyes to stare directly into her mother’s. “This has always just _been about you_ —as everything is.” She pried Elizabeth’s hands from her face. “So you wouldn’t lose your _place_.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Lizzie—”

Harry held up his hand, cutting off Elizabeth and glaring at his mother. “Richard walks Lizzie down the aisle as planned. The two of you don’t get to just change things eight days before the ceremony.” He looked out to the bustling party. “And I notice you’ve done it in a house full of people, so that Lizzie and I would be less likely to fight you on it.”

Margaret huffed and crossed her arms. “That is _not_ —”

“Well, you’ve vastly underestimated us……because we’ve already given our notice at the register.” Harry reminded, and _warned_. “So, Richard walks Lizzie. And if you two try to change that at any time from now up to the ceremony—even if the church is packed and she’s in her white gown—we won’t even worry about who walks her down the aisle, because she and I will get in our cars and marry at the local office.” Harry pointed back and forth between the two older women. “And then all your planning and all your ‘ _appearances_ ’ will be for nothing!”

He grabbed Lizzie’s hand and walked them out of the kitchen into the side garden. He heard her hyperventilating breaths behind him and stopped short, turning to bring her closer into the warmth of his body. He gently took her face in his hands and shushed her soothingly.

Tears began to trickle down her face. “They….they just….and she…and this was _never_ about…..and she’s gonna…..”

“No, she’s not.” Harry tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Neither one of them are. Richard’s going to walk you, we’re not going to let them stop that.” He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head under his chin, hearing her sniffles. “Lizzie, you can believe me.”

He heard her rapid breaths slowly even out, and the wetness from her tears against his neck dissipate. She wrapped her arms around his middle and pulled back to look at him, eyes suddenly clear.

“I _do_.” Her voice was a whisper floating up to him, but it was strong. Honest. “I believe you. What you just did in there—" She rose up on her toes, arm unfurling from his middle to wrap around his neck. She leaned in close, fingertips softly stroking the hair at his nape, and let her eyes drift shut. Her lips just barely brushed against his.

“ _Lizzie_.” The firm way he said her name made her pull back, her eyes shooting open.

She saw him shake his head and her body deflated, putting her back on her heels. She stepped back, bringing her palm to her forehead in embarrassment. “Oh, I…..I’m sorry.”

He caught her wrist. “Lizzie, it’s not that I don’t want you to kiss me, _believe me_. God, it is not that _at all_.” He exhaled loudly and brought her hand to his chest, rubbing the palm with his thumbs. “But I don’t want the first time you kiss me to be when you’ve been crying, after we’ve just had a huge fight with our mums.”

She lowered her head to avoid his gaze. “Oh.”

He lifted her chin with his forefinger, so her eyes met his again. “Lizzie, believe me, _please_.”

She took a deep breath, shuffling her feet. “I told you. I do.”

“Lizzie? Harry? Are you guys out here?” They heard Cecily’s voice call out into the night.

“Yeah, Cecily.” Lizzie never took her eyes from Harry’s. “We’re here.”

“Um, Harry’s stepfather wants the two of you.” Cecily’s voice continued in exasperation and sarcasm. “Apparently he wants to make a toast. And you should let him…….while he can still stand up.”

Harry sighed, lowering their hands so they could walk together. “Tell him we’re on our way.”

 

 

 

 

 

Lizzie shot straight up off her pillow when she heard the buzz, looking over to her bedside clock and the glaring red numbers that said **02:13**. She groaned as she pushed the covers back from her bed and put her feet on the floor.

With eyes that were barely open, she stumbled her way down the hall toward her front door, shouting when the buzz sounded again, “I’m _coming!_ God, it’s two o’clock in the morning, don’t be so damn impatient!”

She looked out her peephole and saw Harry, slightly disheveled and staring right back at her. Groaning again for the tenth time in the minute she’d been awake, she pulled the chain from the door and yanked it open.

“It’s after two a.m.” She stated plainly, letting the truth of the statement serve as her displeasure.

He ducked his head, shyly looking back up at her through his lashes. “Sorry.”

Her nose scrunched up as a stench reached her nostrils. “Ugh, and you reek of cigar smoke.”

“Stag night.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“And yet you don’t reek of cheap perfume, as well?” She clucked her tongue teasingly. “Well, if you’re here because the strippers got you all riled up, you’re out of luck.”

“What? No!” Harry answered a little too vehemently. He then calmed. “No, we only went to a bar—which I left an hour ago. And I’m here because _he’s_ here.”

She lifted a brow, looking past him, down an otherwise empty hall. “And who exactly is _he_?”

But just as she said it, an older man with a graying beard and similarly graying temple, came around the corner into view with a large travel bag slung over his shoulder. She smiled instantly, knowing exactly who he was.

“Lizzie York?” Harry grinned, gesturing to the man as he came to a stop before her. “Fresh from Heathrow, my Uncle Jasper.”

Jasper flashed her a warm, happy smile and held out his hand. “Miss York.”

“Lizzie, please.” She shook it and beamed genuinely back at him. “It’s so lovely to meet the person Harry cares for most in the world. How’s it feel to be back on the Isle, Lord Tudor?”

“You’re so kind to say that. But If I’m to call you Lizzie, then you definitely have to call me Jasper.” He amiably slapped Harry on the back. “And it feels great to be back with this young lad, but otherwise, when I’m in Britain I prefer to be back home in Wales rather than in London.”

“Well,” Lizzie nodded encouragingly. “I do hope you’ll enjoy the few days you spend in York Manor when we all go up there tomorrow afternoon to settle in for the rehearsal and the wedding.”

“I’ve spent some time in Yorkshire, and there are quite a few things that remind me of home.” Jasper chuckled, nodding to Lizzie. “And if your home is as welcoming as you are, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it well.”

“But I _haven’t_ been all that welcoming, have I? Letting you stand out in the hall.” Lizzie opened her door wide. “Are you still on Massachusetts time?”

Jasper nodded again. “It’s only a little after nine p.m. in New Bedford.”

“I have malt loaf and I’ll put the kettle on.” She grinned, taking his bag and putting it inside her flat, next to her coatrack. “If your time in America hasn’t turned you off those things.”

“Certainly not.” Jasper laughed, stepping inside.

Harry began to come in as well, but Lizzie put a hand to his chest. “I think not. Go to your flat and sleep. The cigar smell is very overpowering—”

“It is, Harry.” Jasper called back to him. “I thought I would die from it on the taxi ride over here.”

“—and if you stink up my flat right before I’m to vacate, I won’t get my deposit back.” Lizzie winked as she slowly closed the door. “Besides, Uncle Jasper’s more likely to tell me all your mortifyingly embarrassing stories if you aren’t sitting next to him on my sofa.”

 

 

 

 

 

Cecily brought the glass of vodka to her mouth and tipped her head all the way back. “If this is what I’d be facing at family gatherings for the rest of my life, I’d hang myself.”

“Cecily!” Maggie admonished, watching the room for Elizabeth and Margaret while Cecily and Lizzie clandestinely drank from the bar in York Manor’s grand reception room. “My God!”

“What?” Cecily gestured to Lizzie, standing beside her. “I’m commiserating with her.”

Lizzie hung her head as she took several deep breaths. “The only way you’d truly be commiserating with me is if, for the rest of your life, you _also_ had to deal with the two scheming succubae who just collectively made my wedding rehearsal and rehearsal dinner a passive-aggressive nightmare.”

Lizzie jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder, but looked relieved when she turned to find Harry, who managed a miserable smile. “Are you okay?”

“Well, if they’re going to make our wedding this kind of torture,” Lizzie knocked back the rest of her drink. “at least tonight let us rehearse it.”

Harry looked to the other two women, grimacing. “I’m sorry you both had to be here for that.”

Maggie smiled sympathetically. “We’re here for Lizzie. And I guess you now, as well.”

“Christ, Harry,” Cecily whispered. “because of our mother, Lizzie and I aren’t exactly new to sociopathic social-climbers. But my God, it’s so much worse than I’d ever dreamed it’d be now that your mother is mixed in there too.”

“They haven’t even realized they’ve acted inappropriately with their jabs and underhanded praises. And they’re seemingly working _together_.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I can’t fathom how exhausting it will be when they’re opposed on something.”

“Cecily! Lizzie!” They’d only just heard Elizabeth’s reprimanding voice call out before she was suddenly upon them. “Are you drinking? You know you can’t do that tonight—you’ll be dehydrated for tomorrow! And look a positive mess.”

Lizzie smiled at her mother, saccharine-sweet and sarcastic. “Oh, come on now, if you and Lady Margaret haven’t hired the best make-up artists in all of England to slap a painted mask on the whole bridal party so that we might meet your high expectations of us—well, then you’ve fallen short of _ours_ , Lady Mother.”

The silence that followed was deafening, until Elizabeth smiled at her niece. “Will you see to it that she gets to bed, Maggie?” She lifted a disapproving brow as Cecily shot back more booze. “You as well, Cecily.”

“If you’ll go with Cecily,” Harry pointed to Maggie. “I’ll make sure Lizzie’s good.”

Maggie went ahead with Cecily, while Lizzie found Harry’s hand on her back, keeping her near the bar. “I’m not drunk.”

“I know that.” He told her, looking around the room. “I’ve never seen you drunk, but I doubt you’d be able to tell off your mum so well and so articulately if you were.” He grinned proudly before leaning in close to her ear. “Look around the room and tell me what you see.”

The large room had cleared considerably now that the hour of the day was no longer ‘ _after dinner’_ , as it had been when Elizabeth corralled the hundred or so guests staying on the York Estate from the formal banquet room into the grand reception room, and was instead more ‘ _before bedtime_ ’, as those guests turned in to get their rest before the next morning’s wedding ceremony and midday reception.

But there were still people lingering about in pockets of the room, deep in their own conversations. That wasn’t odd, ‘ _happy family occasions_ ’ like weddings were not always such with society weddings—if it were, then only one-third of the bedrooms at York Manor would be occupied with only the closest of the bride and groom’s family in residence.

As it was, all the bedrooms in the Manor were occupied with even the bedrooms in York House, the smaller home on the vast grounds occupied as well. This was because quite often, society matriarchs and patriarchs ran in the same circles with the same interests and dealings, and people honored as VIP guests at one’s events then offered the same privilege at their own in return.

So, weddings were often used to plan society calendars and shore up invitations for many seasons to come.

“Just people making sure they get invited to all this summer’s garden parties.” She rolled her eyes as she looked well-past Harry into the room. “Francis Lovell talking to your stepfather and stepbrother, de la Pole surely boring the stuffing out of your Uncle Jasper, my Uncle Anthony is talking to Margaret Anjou, and—” she stopped suddenly, her eyes growing wide before she brought a hand up to her throat.

Harry sighed. “So, you see it too.”

Lizzie clenched her eyes shut. “Jasper’s not doing anything strange, he’s polite and de la Pole likes to hear himself talk. Plus, your Uncle looked as though he’s silently begging anyone to save him. But the other two sets of people………” Lizzie gulped loudly and opened her eyes again. “Two months ago, Lovell wouldn’t have ever knowingly been in the same room with your mother, stepfather or stepbrother.”

“And your Uncle Anthony? He’s always hated Margaret Anjou, correct?” Harry prompted, rubbing the forming lines on his forehead. “Or at least he has since she had that falling out with your grandmother long before she died?”

“Yes, but,” Lizzie’s stomach turned so much she had to hold herself up on the back of a nearby chair. “Uncle Anthony’s printing business has been hemorrhaging money—”

“Yeah, digital age and all that.” He reached out for her hand, entwining their fingers. “Anjou’s second husband holds publishing contracts all over half of Europe.”

“Yes, I realize now. And Lovell?” Lizzie looked up into his eyes. “He develops hotels and resorts—what does that have to do with your stepfather?”

“Nothing, at least until my stepbrother George paid way too much for land on the Isle of Man that he wanted to develop himself……but was unable to.” Harry groaned, thinking of his stepbrother. “Lovell’s looking to set up a colder-climate maritime resort, right?”

“Yeah,” Lizzie nodded, but then shook her head. “But last time I heard Mother speak about it at the breakfast table, he was focusing on the Inner Hebrides.”

“If a high-profile developer like Lovell were involved, I’m sure Tynwald Court would be more than willing to make it worth his while to bail George out.”

“Jesus, Harry, were you and I….was all this……?” she dejectedly looked out the window onto the dark night. “do you think—”

“Your mother and my mother arranged our marriage to set up their family members in business with the other’s rich friends?” Harry nodded sadly. “Yeah, Lizzie. I do.”

 

 

 

The night air was cool on her skin and the readily available amount of it allowed the long pulls of breath she took into her lungs to stop her head from spinning.

“I am so livid right now, I could scream.” Harry told her as soon as he’d shut the terrace doors behind him. “I mean, I knew to some extent that arranged marriages were about what the families could do for one another—but this?” He let his head fall back onto the stone of the side of the manor house. “This is so outright, so blatant in its idea that our marriage is nothing more to them than—”

“—a business merger.” She concluded for him, then shrugged in gloomy surrender. “I don’t know why we’re surprised, with your mother and the reason for her marriages, and the way my mother’s family climbed up the social ladder after she married my dad.”

“But that’s them, that’s not us.” He looked at her nervously, hope filling his eyes. “Right?”

Lizzie’s face changed because of her sweet smile, and she placed a tender hand on his shoulder. “Right, Harry. That’s not us.”

“And it doesn’t change things?”

“Well, I know that you didn’t know about George and Lovell. Just as I hope you know that I knew nothing of Uncle Anthony and Anjou.” She gave him a reassuring nod. “So, you and I can keep going as if we never realized this new information.”

“I don’t think I can do that.” He admitted, running his fingers up the arm of her hand that rested on his shoulder. “You and I made great strides in our relationship before this, and the idea that they ever thought that our relationship could be to us what it _clearly_ is to them—”

She let out a trembling breath. “You’re scaring me, Harry.”

“Don’t be.” He lifted his other hand to soothe her. “ _They_ should be scared.” He shrugged and grinned widely. “I think we have to go nuclear.”

Lizzie raised both brows. “Nuclear?”

He let his mouth drop open, breaths speeding up, and his eyes gleamed with something she couldn’t identify as coming from him. But she knew it was warm. Hot, even.

Before she knew what had happened, his hands had cupped her face and his lips were on hers. They were wet and soft, and it only took a moment for her shock to wear off before she was sliding hers against them. He slipped his tongue inside her mouth and she was intrigued, feeling a stir somewhere within her by how strong it was as it danced against her own.

But even still, the kiss wasn’t great. Their teeth clashed, and they couldn’t figure out how to synchronize the moving of their heads as they tried to make the kiss deeper. His hands cupping her face soon felt less like a tender caress and more like being restrained, while at the same time, their bodies weren’t close enough and almost seemed like they were only connected at the mouth.

All in all, though, she had hopes that kissing him would become like what their engagement had been—something that doesn’t quite mesh at first but would get better over time and with hard work, consideration, and respect to the other’s feelings.

She ran her fingers up his side and was jolted when she felt him seize up and pull away from her. “What?” She asked, dazed and apologetic. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” he chuckled under his breath, a hand drifting over to gently cup the side of her neck. “Nothing. I’m just…………” he trailed off in embarrassment.

Her eyes widened as it dawned on her. “Harry Tudor, are you……ticklish?”

“Um………….” He ducked his head, biting his kiss-swollen lip.

“Oh, this is golden.” She chuckled, her hand gently taking a fistful of his shirt and bringing him close into her body. “I’m definitely going to have to use this against you.”

“Okay.” Harry winked as he touched the ends of her blonde locks, fingers traveling up until they tangled deep in her hair. “You can do that.”

She tilted her face up until their mouths were almost perfectly slotted. “But, if I might say one thing?”

“Sure.” He chuckled lowly again, gently placing his other hand at the small of her back.

Lizzie took a fortifying breath. “If we shouldn’t kiss when I’ve been crying, then we shouldn’t kiss just to spite our mothers and scheming families.”

He touched his forehead against hers and sighed deeply. “Right.”

He began to step back, but she held tighter onto her fistful of shirt, wrapping her other arm around his neck. “We should kiss because we’re actually excited about tomorrow, and because…….well, because we both _want_ to.”

He grinned widely at her, her beaming smile meeting him in return. She felt the barest brush of his lips against hers before he whispered, “Yes, we should.”

 

And this kiss was so much better.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. A Lot Can Happen in 24 Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big day is here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter, as I've often heard people say their wedding day was the longest day of their lives.

“Lizzie-Tizzie!!!!” A loud voice sang out into the bedroom. “Wakey-Wakey, Eggs and Bakey!!”

Lizzie woke to the sight of Cecily standing beside her bed, holding a breakfast tray. She sat up against her pillows and looked down at it when Cecily placed it over her lap. It held a cup of tea and toast with butter and jam on a dish off to the side.

She pushed her hair back from her face. “I see neither eggs nor bacon on this tray.”

Cecily chuckled and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I thought your nerves might be getting the best of you, so I brought you something light to settle your stomach.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” Lizzie took note of Cecily’s hair and face as she spread jam on her toast. “Wait a minute, you’re already made up.”

Cecily proudly gestured to her perfectly-styled hair and artfully-done lips. “Make-up and hair people have already beautified your bridal party.”

“What time is it?” Lizzie looked to the clock by her bed and gasped as she jolted forward. “09:00am! Oh my god. Why’d you let me sleep so late?”

“We decided you deserved to have a bit of a lie-in.” Cecily shrugged, holding her hands up to calm her sister. “Everyone else is already done. And as soon as you finish your toast and have a bath, the hair and make-up people can work on you at the same time.” She snagged a bite of Lizzie’s toast. “You’re perfectly on schedule.”

Lizzie gave a relieved sigh, leaning back on her pillows and smiling. “You’ve been the best sister in the world throughout all this. How’d that happen?”

“I’m happy _and_ terrified for you.” Cecily informed her matter-of-factly. “And I figured you’re probably feeling the same thing, only multiplied by like, _ten_. So, I decided to do anything I can to make you feel at ease.”

“You _are_.” Lizzie smiled, reaching for her hand. Tears began to glisten in her eyes. “I wish Father were here.”

Cecily squeezed her hand, her lip trembling slightly. “And Edward.”

“Yeah.” Lizzie clenched her eyes shut.

“Well, if Father were here, or Edward,” Cecily traced a pattern on Lizzie’s duvet with her finger. “you wouldn’t be _forced_ to marry Harry Tudor.”

Lizzie smiled a secret smile into the rim of her teacup. “It’s not so bad.”

“No, I know. He’s a nice guy.” Cecily nodded, looking back up. “But it’s just the whole thing is so ridic—” she stopped mid-word, her mouth dropping open at the smile on Lizzie’s face. “Lizzie York, _what_ is that smile about?”

“Nothing.” It grew wider on Lizzie’s face.

“Oh my god!” Cecily nearly screeched. “You little minx! What exactly happened after Maggie and I went to bed last night?”

“Nothing that your dirty mind is thinking!” Lizzie brought her hands up to hide her face. “We just—” she peeked out through her fingers. “ _kissed_. Because we both wanted to.”

Cecily plopped herself down, laying beside Lizzie. “And? How was it?”

“Nice.” Lizzie replied happily, lowering her hands.

“ _Nice_? That’s _it_?” Cecily groaned loud and rubbed her temples. “Lizzie, Adele’s first album was _nice._ That’s not what you want in a kiss from your fiancée!”

“Yes, but,” Lizzie nudged Cecily’s arm. “Adele’s second and third albums were completely fuckin’ _brilliant_. And that’s what it’s going to be like with Harry and me. I’m sure of it.”

They heard a knock on the door, and Maggie poked her head in with her hair and makeup also perfectly styled. “Lizzie?”

“Yes, Mags, come on in.” Lizzie waved her in. “Is it time for me to get ready?”

“Well, the woman with the foundation garments is here,” Maggie nodded, pointing to the door. “And the makeup and hair people are all done with the everyone else.”

“I’ll take a quick shower. Tell them it will be ten minutes at most.” Lizzie pushed her covers back. “And where is Mother in all this? I thought she’d be in my face all morning.”

Cecily remained lounging on the bed, rolling her eyes. “She and Lady Margaret are hosting a breakfast for all their snooty guests staying on the estate.”

“And Richard?” Lizzie stopped gathering her toiletries and looked to both women with concern. “How is he this morning?”

“Doing a 2000 piece puzzle. And still down at the cottage with Mrs. Nabb.” Maggie answered soothingly, speaking of Richard’s large class/playroom on York Manor’s grounds and of his caretaker. “She says he’s doing fine.”

Lizzie took a deep breath and gazed at the white satin ballgown and cathedral-length veil that hung on the back of her closet door. “I guess I’m getting married today.”

 

 

 

 

“You all did so well!” Lizzie knelt and told the children with a proud, wide smile. “Cecily and I are going to talk to Mrs. Nabb and then Harry and I will be right back to see you.”

She lifted the full skirt of her wedding gown and curled her finger for her sister to follow her to the side chapel. Cecily nodded and followed right behind in her deep silver bridesmaid dress. They walked in silence and opened the wooden door to find the two people they needed to see already there.

Lizzie walked directly to the boy in his junior morning suit and leaned down next to his face. “Richard, I’m very proud of how well you did, walking me down the aisle. It’s a good thing we practiced, huh?”

Richard nodded, but otherwise didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry the pictures took so long, but I’m very happy you were with me at my wedding.” She smiled tenderly, touching his shoulder. “And very happy you’re my brother.”

He gave a small smile, and even though he still wasn’t looking at her, it was something that warmed her heart more than all the smiles of the other well-wishers combined. Because it was something he did very rarely. He turned his face away. “Happy, very happy.”

“Mrs. Nabb is going to take you to your cottage by the pond. There are going to be lots of other people on the grounds today, but Mother has made sure they won’t come near it,” Cecily added, gesturing for Richard’s caretaker to come forward. “Dr. Halliby has even said you can have some cake later, won’t that be nice?”

Lizzie watched as her brother and the older woman exited the chapel by way of the outside door. “Bye, Richard!”

“Lucky thing.” Cecily rolled her eyes, leaving the small chapel ahead of her sister. “Getting to miss the reception.”

Lizzie stayed behind a moment, trying to calm her breathing and slow her heartbeat, then walked back into the transept to find her new husband waiting for her, looking the epitome of handsomeness in his gray morning suit. “Everything good?”

Lizzie nodded, taking the arm he offered. “Richard did _very_ well, don’t you think?”

Harry nodded back firmly. “He did.”

“Harry,” Lizzie stopped them right before they reached their destination and took a trembling breath. “I’ll never forget what you did to make that—”

Harry held up his hand to halt her gratitude, looking deep into her eyes. “Lizzie, he’s my brother too, now. If there’s ever anything—

She cut him off by leaning into him and stretching up on her toes. She ran a gentle hand up to the back of his head, threading her fingers in his hair. Her kiss was chaste, just a soft pressing of her lips to his, but it was sweet—grateful and kind. He put his hands at the nipped-in waist of her wedding gown and held her closer.

“Thank you.” She whispered against his cheek as she slowly pulled away.

“Always.” He pledged in a raspy voice. He then pointed to the room where the three children were still waiting, grinning when he opened the door. “This might be the most fun we’ll have all day.”

Lizzie smiled at her cousin when they walked through. “Thanks for watching them while Mum is busy with her _more important_ society friends, Maggie.”

“Of course.” Maggie smiled in her bridesmaid dress, standing next to Teddy and brushing back his hair.

“Cate? Bridget? Teddy?” Lizzie called the three of them to stand before her again, waiting until her sisters stopped playing and stood next to their more docile cousin. Her sisters fidgeted in their lace flower girl dresses, while Teddy was gracious and calm in his vest and trousers. “Harry and I got you all something for being in the wedding. And for being so well-behaved.”

Harry handed each of them an envelope, winking at Lizzie when he moved beside her. They waited for the shouts of joy to start. They didn’t have to wait long.

“HARRY POTTER!!!!” Cate and Bridget shouted at the same time, throwing down the envelopes and dancing around the room, waving the tickets in their hands. “harrypotterharrypotterharrypotter.”

Teddy jumped over to Maggie, reading his ticket with glee. “Look, Maggie! Harry Potter studio tour!”

“I see that.” Maggie laughed, smiling down at him encouragingly. “What do you say?”

He walked over to Lizzie, smiling politely. “Thank you, Lizzie.”

“ _Thank you, Lizzie_. _Thank you, Lizzie_.” Her sisters added in a sing-song voice as they continued their dancing.

“Thank Harry, it was his idea.” She replied with a very serious look. “Harry _Tudor_ , not Potter.” She winked and chuckled with them as they laughed. “We’ll take you once we get back from Greece.”

“Or Cecily and I can take them.” Maggie offered. But Lizzie had to bite back a laugh when she looked behind the kids to see Cecily shake her head vehemently and mouth ‘ _no_ ’. “If you and Harry are too busy when you get back.”

“And miss all the fun you guys will have?” Harry called to the kids happily. “No way!”

All three kids swarmed Harry around his middle, with him laughing all the while as he gave them high-fives. “ _Thank you, Harry_!!!”

 

 

 

 

Harry was still smiling, gazing out the window of their limo as they headed back to York Manor for their wedding reception. In the seat beside him, Lizzie was smiling too, but her eyes were trained on him.

“You were quite the hit with them.”

He looked over at her, chuckling as he took her hand in his. “I’ve never really had young children in my life.” He stared at their entwined fingers. “Even when I _was_ a young child.”

“You’d never guess it. Even before today, I think Bridget and Cate may have started liking _you_ more than _me_.” She tugged on their hands, not to release, but just for comfort.

“Never. They love you.” An expression of wonderment graced his features. “Kids are……pure…… _honest_. I love that.”

“Well, fair warning…….back there was probably the last time today that you’ll get honest emotion that doesn’t have anything ulterior behind it.” She reached over to run her thumb over the gold ring on his finger. “Unless it’s from me.”

He leaned back to put his head on the headrest, looking up at her fondly. “Unless it’s from you.”

 

 

 

 

Lizzie and Harry had just walked in to the ballroom of York Manor, grinning widely and nodding to the joyously clapping guests, when both their mothers came upon them, taking turns placing kisses on the cheeks of the newlywed couple. Then, very suddenly, they were separated by those mothers.

 

“Lizzie,” Elizabeth cupped her daughter’s elbow, pulling her aside and leaning close to her ear. “at some point when the band is playing, you must dance with John de Mowbray.”

“I can’t stand John de Mowbray.” Lizzie firmly replied to her mother. “I’m not dancing with someone I can’t stand at _my own wedding_ , simply because you tell me to.”

Elizabeth raised a brow. “Now, Lizzie—"

“I’m going to spend the reception with my husband.” Lizzie smiled widely, patting her mother on the arm. “If I dance, it’ll be with him. Even though he can’t really dance.”

 

“Henry,” Margaret took her son’s arm and led him toward the edge of the ballroom, whispering. “today during the festivities, you must make a special point to go over and thank Lord Audley for coming.”

“Well, I don’t know what Lord Audley even looks like,” Harry told his mother with a strong voice. “which means I’ve never met him, which means I couldn’t have cared less if he came, which means I’m not making a special point to thank him for coming.”

“But Henry—” Margaret’s face grew red.

“I’ll be beside my wife the whole day.” Harry grinned at his mother. “If she walks around thanking the guests, then that’s what I’m going to do. Otherwise, Lord Audley will just have to remain un-thanked.”

 

Harry and Lizzie found each other again and walked away toward their table, happily arm in arm. Elizabeth and Margaret were both left on opposite sides of the ballroom, staring after their children with their mouths hanging open in disbelief.

 

 

 

 

“Thank God we don’t have to cut that whole thing!” Harry licked some frosting from his thumb as they moved away from the cake table and back to their places of honor.

Lizzie took note of the half-dozen servers who’d taken over the cake-cutting. “It’s six tiers, Harry. Everyone would be here ‘til midnight if we did.” She giggled as he held out her chair for her. “How’s it taste?”

“Vanilla Buttercream?” He shrugged with a sly smirk, sitting next to her. “ _Completely fucking boring_. But I had it on good authority that it would be.” He motioned to nearby server as she laughed, then grinned widely as the server placed two plates on the table before them. “I believe I remember you saying _these_ were more to your liking.”

Lizzie looked down to see that one plate held a slice of red velvet cake, while the other held a slice of chocolate-hazelnut ganache. “You remembered.” She whispered in awe, before facing him fully and smiling brightly.

“I actually remember quite a lot from when people complain about my mother.” Harry smiled brightly back at her, then it fell slightly when he gazed across the crowded ballroom to see his mother holding court as she made her rounds amongst the tables. “Given that I’ve spent my life doing the same.”

“Which one do you want?” She pointed between the two plates.

“They both look good.” He leaned in close to inspect them. “But I’ll take the one you want the least.”

“Nope.” She cut both slices down the middle, carefully forking over half-slices until both flavors sat on each plate. “Both it is. Bon Appetit, Harry.”

He placed bites from both slices on his fork, eating them simultaneously. “Oh wow.” He moaned immediately.

“Good, right?” Her smile was euphoric as she spoke with her mouth full.

“Even if I hadn’t already been more inclined to your tastes over my mother’s,” Harry laughed before taking another bite. “I would be now.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just thrilled my tastes aren’t as extravagant as _my_ mother’s.” She looked around the already-ostentatious ballroom of York Manor and crinkled her nose in distaste at the additions made for the reception. “It looks like Baccarat and Bernardaud-Limogues threw up in here.”

He laughed so hard he had to cover his mouth with his napkin. “Mother only complained about the crystal and china choices because they’re French brands and she thought it would seem—” he made air-quotes with his fingers. “— _unpatriotic_. So, it’s fine to ship her son off to French boarding schools for most his life……but for her aristocratic friends to eat off and drink from? That’s simply not done.”

Lizzie leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “I suspect allowing the French brands is what your mother had to concede in return for my mother not ordering every white rose north of the Thames for the floral arrangements.”

“A church and ballroom filled to the brim with white roses at a York wedding would be a little too on the nose, don’t you think?” Harry nudged her under the table. “Besides, I noticed a few white roses that your mother snuck into your bouquet.”

“Actually, that was _my_ act of defiance against your mother,” she fluttered her eyelashes. “not Mum’s.”

“Well, Mother sneaking in ‘ _Old Land of my Fathers’_ on the welsh harp was an especially spiteful touch.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t even know there’d _be_ a welsh harp in the service! And I notice she omitted it from the wedding program so Elizabeth couldn’t argue.”

“There wasn’t time to put it on the program.” Lizzie informed him, moving her cake around the plate. “Uncle Jasper only told me of your love for the welsh harp on the night you brought him over.” She then grinned proudly, looking him in the eye as his mouth dropped open in surprise. “I’m pretty proud of myself, finding a welsh harpist in time. And you wouldn’t believe the cloak-and-dagger shit that had to be done to get the harpist in the church without either our mothers knowing.”

He put his fork down and leaned back in gleeful awe. “ _Lizzie_.”

“Oh, _what_?” She smiled softly, leaning in toward him. “You remember and arrange for us to have cake flavors I’d only mentioned in passing weeks ago, but me adding a harp and an anthem to our wedding service is the awesome and touching gesture of the day?” She took a small bite. “I’m only rising to your level, Harry.”

 

 

 

 

“Will you accept Uncle Jasper as my proxy?” Harry nearly had to yell over the jubilant music of the brass band.

“What?” Lizzie gave him a confused look.

“The band’s incredible.” Harry pointed to Lizzie’s tapping feet and gave her an apologetic smile. “And I know you want to dance, but you haven’t yet. Probably out of respect for your ‘ _dork economics professor’_ husband who would no doubt break one of your toes if we did.”

She placed a soft hand on his arm. “I don’t need to dance, Harry.”

“Every bride should dance at her wedding.” Harry winked, pointing to Jasper who now stood before their table, holding out his hand for her with a smirk on his face. “And he’s the only one I trust to keep his hands to himself.”

Lizzie giggled and kissed Harry on the cheek before jumping up from her chair and nearly skipping out to the dance floor with Jasper. The band changed songs to ‘ _You Made Me Love You’_ and Lizzie placed her other hand on Jasper’s shoulder. They danced for a while, just enjoying the music, but then they began to speak.

“You seem happy today.” Jasper smiled widely, swinging her a bit.

“I believe I am.” Lizzie laughed as she twirled. “Your nephew’s a lovely man.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” He replied, his features then growing serious as the song dropped out of the refrain. “I was _worried_. When I found out about this…..about the marriage.”

“Honestly, I was too.” Lizzie nodded seriously before quirking a brow. “Have your worries gone away?”

“I’ll always worry about Harry.” He chuckled lowly, then gave her a small grin. “But no longer about this. As of about three days ago, I have great faith that everything will work out brilliantly.”

She pretended to think, bringing a pondering finger to her chin. “Well, Lord Tudor, I do believe you met _me_ three days ago.”

Jasper laughed loudly at that, just as the song ended. They stood still on the dance floor and he politely kissed her hand. “Be good to him. You both deserve to be happy.”

“I will.” Lizzie smiled back at him. “And thank you for saying that.”

They separated, and Jasper walked away to sit back in his chair. All alone. Lizzie caught sight of a familiar face nearby, and the gears began turning in her mind. She quickly followed after Jasper and caught him by the elbow, turning him back around before he reached his table.

She grinned at his look of surprise. “Jasper, do you mind if I introduce you to one of my friends?”

“Of course not.” He shook his head, letting her pull him along. “Any friend of yours…….”

Lizzie caught up to the familiar face and tapped the woman’s shoulder, causing her to turn with a bright smile. “Cate? This is Harry’s uncle, Jasper Tudor.” She wrapped her arm around her kind, patient coworker. “Jasper? This is my lovely friend and pseudo-boss from the museum, Cate Buckingham.”

 

 

 

 

Lizzie was facing the edge of their table as she giggled with Maggie, but she heard a loud clinking and turned back to see Harry standing with his knife tapping against his champagne glass. It got everyone’s attention, and the clamor of the ballroom began to die down.

He cleared his throat loudly. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you don’t mind, I’d like to make a toast.” The room finally fell silent. “Firstly, Lizzie and I would like to thank both our families for their support in these last few weeks, and for this lovely wedding that they _helped_ us plan.”

Lizzie had to dig her nails into her palms to stop herself from laughing at the absurd dishonesty of that statement. But looking up at Harry she knew that it was the proper thing to say, even if it was untrue.

“When my engagement first happened, my friend Jack—he’s the blonde-haired idiot over there—" Harry pointed over to the wedding party table and then laughed when Jack stood and waved. “Waving, seriously? Okay.” The whole room laughed along with them. “Well, anyway, he told me that he didn’t understand how I could marry someone I didn’t really know. And at the time, I wasn’t sure what to say to him. But now, I won’t only answer Jack, but everyone assembled here today as well.”

He discreetly looked to his mother and stepfather across the ballroom. “Knowing someone doesn’t happen just because of length of time. There are people who have been together for years, who don’t truly know each other. Because true knowledge only happens when you open yourself up to someone, and then make the effort to learn what’s inside when they open themselves up to you. Without embarrassment, manipulation, obfuscation, arrogance, or fear.”

“And unfortunately, willingness to do that doesn’t automatically come with anniversaries, or an engagement ring, or even a grand declaration of love.” He paused when he saw Lizzie smile fondly at the last, no doubt remembering their lunch out in the sun in front of the museum.

“Lizzie and I don’t truly know each other. But as of this moment, I know we want to learn. I know we’re both willing to split ourselves open and show the other all the good—and even all the bad—that makes us who we are. True knowledge is what we’re both striving for. It’s our mutual goal. Because not only do we both want to be happy, we want to make the other happy as well. How this marriage happened no longer matters to us, only that it exists, only that it’s ours. We’ll treat it well.”

“Marriage starts on day one. It can crumble even with solid bedrock. And can stand tall and proud even with sand beneath it. All that matters is what happens after the moment the pastor pronounces you. You don’t get gold stars for having years behind you, and you don’t get demerits for barely knowing each other. No matter what, if you want the A+, you have to work for it.”

He looked down at his new wife, giving her a long and genuine smile. “And Lizzie and I are ready to work.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses……..” he raised his glass high amongst all the others, including Lizzie’s. “To working for what matters!”

 

 

 

 

Lizzie had been waiting for Harry to come to her room, so that together they could go down to the waiting limo and waiting crowd gathered to see them off on their trip. But she found herself waiting a long time, and finally decided to go get him once she’d had the valet take her last bag down to the car.

She heard the shouting voices through the walls as soon she came into the wing that held the Tudor and Stanley family member’s bedrooms for their stay at York Manor. She pressed her ear to Harry’s door.

“It was utterly humiliating, Henry!”

“I’m getting ready to leave for my honeymoon, I really don’t have time for your ridiculousness, Mother.” Harry yelled back in exasperation.

“It’s not ridiculous,” Margaret seethed loudly. “It’s disrespect. After what we did to help them secure their fortune—”

“You mean after what _I_ did, right.” Harry shot back sarcastically. “I married her, and you know what? I’m actually feeling pretty good about that move right now, simply because it means that I’m now _married to her_. So, I don’t expect her eternal gratitude. And I don’t consider it disrespect when she wants to keep her maiden name.”

“It shows a lack of commitment to her new House, her new life!” Margaret continued at her same high volume. “And for it to be announced like that in front of all our guests—"

He groaned loud enough to echo through the walls. “Do you have any idea how hypocritical you’re being? Lady Margaret _Beaufort_?”

“I’ll have you know, that’s only with your stepfathers! I took your father’s name while we were married, because that’s what you do for the man with whom you expect to have children!” She yelled pretentiously. “Now, if this is indicative that she doesn’t wish to have your children—”

“We’ve been married less than six hours!” Harry screamed at her. “And I’m just about to leave with her to spend ten days on our honeymoon. Which will be the very first days we’ve _ever_ spent alone together. I’m not about to think of _any_ of this while we’re gone just because you’ve gone mad in your insecurity about a goddamn name!”

Lizzie had heard all she could stand to hear and knocked on the door. “Harry?”

“Yeah, Lizzie.” He called back to her. “It’s open.”

She opened the door, standing primly in her tailored suit with her wide-brimmed hat in her hand. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes!” Lady Margaret yelled.

“No!” Harry yelled simultaneously. He slipped on his blazer and grabbed a small travel case from atop the bed, walking to the door. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Henry!” Margaret shouted after him. “Henry! If you do not speak to her about this now, I’m not going down to see you off.”

“Good.” He yelled back, ushering Lizzie from the doorway and pulling the knob shut behind him. “I don’t want you there anyway!!!”

 

 

 

Harry was quiet their entire limo ride to the small regional airport where they’d catch a private flight to the Port of Southampton. Lizzie knew he was still going over it in his head, still fresh in his anger. So, she decided to let it settle and speak to him about it once they’d gotten on the plane.

Once on board, they sat in their leather seats while their luggage was put into the cargo holds, and she reached over next to her to put her hand on his knee. “This is a nice plane. How’d this get arranged?”

“Wedding gift from Lord John Clifford.” Harry sighed, looking out the window. “I barely know him. But he and my mother—”

“Harry, please talk to me.” She interrupted, softly pleading. “I can’t stand not knowing what’s going on in your mind right now.”

He turned from the window to look at her, instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, I’m starting off as a bad husband.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve already done a dozen wonderful, thoughtful things for me today.” She smiled warmly. “Including, I think, getting into a fight with your mother on my behalf.”

“It wasn’t just on your behalf, she infuriated me as well.” He answered, rubbing his eyes.

“About me keeping my York name?” She nodded, encouraging him to share with her. “What even set her off?”

“When the band emcee announced that we were leaving the ballroom to prepare to depart for our honeymoon, he said: ‘ _Harry Tudor and Lizzie York will be leaving for Greece in less than a half hour!_ ’, and apparently, that was some unforgivable insult to her in front of all her friends.” He took her hand in his. “That you weren’t Lizzie _Tudor_.”

“Is it an insult to _you_?” She laid her head back, looking up at him. “Because honestly, that’s all I’d ever care about.”

“No. I honestly don’t care if you’re Lizzie Tudor or not.” He chuckled lowly. “Actually, I’m sort of _glad_ you’re not taking it. Because it means you didn’t just marry me for my House, that you don’t feel compelled to do _everything_ just because it’s expected of you. And then that means, at least in some small part, that you’re in this with me because you…..want to be.”

“Well,” she reached over to lightly grasp his jacket lapel, smirking mischievously as she pulled him closer to her. She leaned in, placing a light kiss on his lips. “in some _small_ part.”

 

 

 

 

They arrived at Southampton right on time for them to board their small cruise ship, the captain greeting the short roster of passengers as they came aboard, and caught a light evening meal in the intimate, romantic restaurant located towards the bow of the ship.

The ship was known for personal attention and care of its guests. So, when their steward opened the doors to their stateroom, all of their bags were in the correct places. And the steward left them with the knowledge that someone would be attentive to their needs twenty-four hours a day, no matter what they were.

They found a large vase of orchids and gourmet chocolates sitting atop a small table in the stateroom’s living space, a set of tapered candles and champagne in an iced bucket resting there as well. The bed was a luxury king, their windowed doors opened to a large balcony with cushioned deck chairs, and best of all their bathroom was bigger than the living room in Lizzie’s (now former) flat—with a huge deep-soaking tub in the center. And because the stateroom stood on the top deck of the ship, skylights sat above their bed and the bathtub.

Lizzie glanced nervously at their large bed. Harry caught her looking. “Are you tired?”

She chuckled. “You know, I think now that we’ve stopped constantly moving, the exhaustion of the past few days is catching up with me.”

He laughed in return. “I know what you mean.”

She looked at the clock resting on the large bookshelves nearby. “But, I haven’t gone to bed at eight o’clock at night since grammar school.” She pointed back to the bathroom. “The tub in there is absolutely incredible, so I might take a bath.”

“Yeah, okay.” He nodded to her, his voice breathy. “Take as long as you want.”

She discreetly moved a bag into the bathroom with her, closing the door behind her. She looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look any different, now that she was _a wife_. A small, childish part of her wondered if she’d look different tomorrow. After tonight.

She took a long soak in the tub, relaxing her tired muscles and letting the heat and steam soothe her anxious mind. When the water began to cool, she got out and reached into her bag.

She took down her elaborate wedding hairstyle, letting it fall into the long and loose style she preferred. She rubbed lotion into her freshly washed skin and touched up her makeup, which she knew was ridiculous—if she was headed where she assumed she was headed—but she did it anyway.

And finally, she pulled out the short, burgundy-colored lace nightgown she’d bought for an entire week’s pay the evening after Harry visited her at the museum. She leaned over and adjusted her breasts into the cups of the lingerie, just like the shopgirl at the store had (mortifyingly) shown her how. She then spritzed herself with her favorite perfume.

She stood before the mirror. _Now_ she looked different.

She took a few deep breaths before opening the door and reentering the stateroom. Just in time to see Harry with his back to her, throwing something across the room in anger.

“Harry?” She spoke up, voice laced with concern. “What did you just throw?”

He turned to face her with his eyes burning furiously, and his whole demeanor changed, jaw dropping and eyes widening at the sight of her. “Wow, um…wow, you look _so_ beautiful…. _God_ ……”

“What did you just throw?” She asked again, coming closer to him.

He looked over in the direction of the thrown object and rubbed his neck in frustration. “That would be my phone.”

Lizzie clenched her eyes shut, knowing what had made him throw it. “She _didn’t_.”

“Yeah, it’s my own fault for looking at it.” He sat heavily down into a chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She never texts, thinks it’s ‘ _uncouth_ ’. But apparently, she can break her rules about manners to continue yelling at me on my wedding night.”

“Harry—” she began, trying for soothing.

“It’s maddening! I’m sitting here with my body shaking in anger at my mother,” he looks up at her, eyes dark and appreciative. “while across from me……you look _like that_.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It just makes me hate her even more.”

“You shouldn’t hate your mother.” She walked to his chair and kneeled before it. “But you should turn off your phone. For the entire trip. I’ll leave my phone on and if there are any emergencies with your family, Cecily will know about it and she’ll contact me.”

He nodded, trying for a smile. “Alright. I can do that.”

She sunk back on her heels, letting out a deep, tired sigh. “It _is_ infuriating.”

He nodded again, his thumb lightly brushing her cheek. “It is.”

The yawn came out of her before she could stop it, and it echoed loudly into their room. She shyly hid her face in her hands, but he pulled them away, laughing slightly and tilting his head in concern.

“You really are tired.” He stated sympathetically before taking her hand. “I’m tired too.”

She shook her head sadly. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been this exhausted in my whole life. They’re exhausting, the both of them.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You do look _so_ beautiful.” He then hung his head low. “And I can’t believe a stupid fight I had with my mother is still racing through my head. Especially tonight.”

“Well, we’re both tired, and frustrated, and you’re angry enough to throw cellular devices across staterooms.” She bit her lip, then smiled as she squeezed his hand. “You know the great thing about champagne?” She continued after he shook his head, looking about the room. “As long as it stays corked, it doesn’t go flat. Orchids don’t wilt after one night, candles don’t burn down if they’re not lit, and nightgowns don’t disintegrate after wearing them one time—at least not a nightgown that cost this many pounds, that is.”

He nodded in agreement. “So, you’re saying……..not tonight."

“Nothing about us has been typical, at least not so far. It can remain untypical for one more night. And we can start fresh in the morning.” She rose from the floor and held out her had to him. “Come with me.”

She walked them to the bed and pulled back the covers, getting under them while he began taking off his clothes. He had already taken off his jacket when they entered the stateroom, so he only took off his dress shirt, belt and trousers. He stood beside the bed in just his boxer shorts, looking at her uncertainly.

“Get in, turn your back to me.” She told him firmly. He hesitated nervously, so she quirked a brow and chuckled slightly. “I’m not going to _hurt_ you, Harry.”

He laughed and pulled back the covers on his side of the bed. “Well, you _might_. We’re married now, so I’ve already served my purpose.”

“Remember that I know you’re ticklish, Harry Tudor.” She warned, laughing and pressing against his back when he did turn away from her. “Just relax.”

“What are you—” he stopped mid-question and moaned loudly when she carded her fingers through his hair, running her fingertips against his scalp in circular motions as she pressed her cheek between his shoulder blades. His whole body relaxed at being so wrapped up in her. “Oh my god, how did you learn to do this?”

“It started when Richard was young, when he started to have fits.” She paused in her motions momentarily, letting out a sad sigh. “But as he got older, they got too severe for me to help him. It also worked with calming down Bridget and Cate when they were small.” She ran a finger down to playfully flick against his earlobe. “Let’s just say I have a talent for calming little children who are having tantrums.”

He tried for teasing, but it was broken by a loud yawn. “Is that what you call your beloved husband?”

She kept up her ministrations but yawned as well. “Go to sleep, Harry.”

“And you’ll still be here when I wake up?” He mumbled sleepily.

She placed a kiss to his bare shoulder before feeling herself begin to drift off too. “That was the vow we made this morning.”

 

 

 

He came awake feeling safe and warm, his legs sliding against smooth, sumptuous sheets. He stretched his muscles and felt the good kind of ache within them. And opening his eyes, he saw the best thing he’d seen in quite a while.

Lizzie York still asleep next to him. Her face smoothed out in the peace of sleep and her small, soft hand resting curled up between them. He allowed his fingers to touch a lock of her silky hair where it laid spread out on her pillow.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly. She smiled sweetly at him. “Good morning, Harry.”

“Good morning, Lizzie.” He smiled back. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm-hmm.” She answered, stretching her arms above her head. The move offered him a gorgeous view of her breasts in the lace nightgown she’d put on the night before.

“Do you want breakfast?” He gestured to the phone on the bedside table. “I could have something brought in for us.”

She looked at him strangely, a secret glow on her face. “Not particularly.”

“Me neither.” His skin felt afire, his eyes gleaming with desire as he looked her over. “I, um…..you….I really want—”

She cut off his nervous rambling by placing a tender hand on his bicep, letting it slowly drift up to brush his neck before carefully running it back down his chest. She looked at him shyly, a tiny grin on her lips as that same hand snuck under the bedcovers.

He felt her at his hip and his lungs forced out a trembling breath when her fingers slipped under the band of his boxer shorts. Because without even consciously realizing it, he’d been waiting for this since the first day he saw her on the terrace of York Manor. Now she was here, and in this moment, she wanted him.

“Here?” She asked in a careful whisper as her hand moved around to his front. He nodded and very nearly choked at the incredible feel of her hands encircling him.

His hand slipped under the covers as well, running along her body as it pushed up her nightgown to find bare skin. “Allow me.”

Her smile got a little brighter at his politeness in contrast to his hand moving devilishly against her flesh. She let out a tiny laugh and so did he as they moved closer to each other without even realizing they were doing it. Then as he continued to touch the sweetest parts of her, her eyes fluttered shut and her mouth fell open in ecstasy, letting out a moan that was the loveliest thing he’d ever heard.

“Harry…….. _yes_.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. HMS Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four days on a cruise ship sailing to Greece. This is where Lizzie and Harry truly begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where the M rating will start, because.....honeymoon.

“Lizzie.” His voice rang through, pulling her from her slumber. “Lizzie, wake up.”

She felt a soft touch on her nose, moving down to run along her bottom lip. She opened her eyes to find him sitting on top of the covers, dressed in his robe. “Harry.” She yawned loudly. “What time is it?”

“A little after 08:00am.” He smiled sweetly at her before getting up off the bed. “There’s tea if you want it.”

“I hope you didn’t wake me up just to tell me there is tea.” She sat up and stretched her arms. “Because I gotta tell you, as your wife, that’s not gonna fly.”

“No.” He chuckled, picking up her robe from a nearby chair and handing it to her. “There’s something you should see. Out on the balcony.”

She stood from the bed and slipped on her robe as he went back onto their balcony. She ambled over to the room service cart and poured herself a cup of tea, snatching a croissant as well. Taking a bite, she walked out the balcony doors and into the sunshine.

“So,” she began after she swallowed, coming beside him and resting her head on his shoulder. “what was so important that I had to be woken up?”

He raised his arm and pointed to something off in the distance that was gradually growing bigger and clearer. “That.”

She let out a blissful sigh and smiled lightly when she recognized the giant rock formation. “Gibraltar.”

“I woke you because,” he shrugged, giving her a grin. “you just seem like the kind of person who’d appreciate it. We’ll soon be in the Mediterranean.” He moved his arm around her, so she was no longer on his shoulder, but tucked against his chest. “Have you ever seen Gibraltar?”

“No,” she wrapped her arm around his waist. “I flew into the Mediterranean for all my trips for school and the museum.” She looked around her appreciatively. “It’s lovely.”

“Yes, it is.” He replied, not talking about the giant rock as he gazed down at her face and pushed back a strand of her hair with gentle fingers. He smiled happily. “What do you want to do today?”

“Well, I want to be out here when we pass through the strait.” She raised a brow. “Do you think the steward could get us a chessboard?”

 

 

 

 

“Checkmate.”

“Son of a bitch.” She groaned playfully as they sat cross-legged on the balcony floor with the chessboard set out between them. “I thought I could play, but you’re just beating the tar out of me! How did you get so good?”

He chuckled as he began to move the discarded pieces back on the board. “From growing up in boarding schools. You have a lot of free time and very little to do with it. If you want to keep your idle hands out of trouble, you find yourself a hobby.” He grinned happily in remembrance. “Plus, the academy would set me up in tournaments—and sometimes, they were a big deal with people from all around signing up to play. Uncle Jasper was living in Paris back then, and he would drive in to see me compete.”

“What was Jasper doing in Paris?” She took a sip of her tea.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “When I was eight and Mother shipped me off to school, Jasper went too.”

Lizzie’s mouth opened slightly in awe. “Just to be close to you?”

He nodded, looking at her seriously. “Do you see now? Why he’s my—”

“I do.” She answered quickly, firmly. She reached out to touch his arm. “He’d be my favorite person too.”

He stretched his legs out and leaned back on his palms. “Who’s _your_ favorite person?”

“I don’t really know.” She pursed her lips pensively. “I have quite a few people who have their moments…..Cecily, my other sisters, my half-brothers, Richard……sometimes even Mother. Though it will take a long time to heal the recent wounds she inflicted, even if the knife she used to cut me is turning out to be pretty nice knife. Very nice, indeed.” She grinned widely, giving him a wink. “I guess my favorite person slot hasn’t been filled yet.”

He gazed at her softly, finally grinning back at her. “You need sunscreen. Your face is starting to pink up.”

“Oh.” She touched her bare skin as she stood. “Well, we’ve passed through the strait. Let’s go back inside.”

“Do you want to go do something today?” He asked as they entered the stateroom. “The pool is supposed to be nice. Or they have a small casino.” He laughed to himself. “Due to the inability of my feet to follow simple patterns, the cocktail lounge with its dance floor is sadly not happening for us, but……..it’s your choice.”

“Let’s just stay in the room.” Lizzie crawled back onto the bed, reclining on the pillows. “I still have a bit of a champagne headache from us opening the bottle last night. And…….it’s nice in here, just the two of us.”

He sat on the bed with her and gave her a tender, teasing smirk. “I’m not turning you into a hermit, am I? We stayed in the room all day yesterday as well.”

“Are you complaining?” She purred sultrily, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

“After the way we _spent_ all day yesterday?” Harry winked at her, eyes hot with desire. “Never in a million fucking years.”

“I’m not interested in _out there_. Everything out there is just—” she shrugged, gesturing toward their stateroom door. “—distractions. Things to do so we avoid…….” she sat back up and her hand carefully crawled over to his, entwining their fingers. “….. ‘ _splitting ourselves open and showing the other all the good—and even all the bad—that makes up who we are_ ’.”

His grin lit up his whole his face. “So, you liked that part of the toast, huh?”

“Yes, I did.” She eased out of her robe until she was only wearing the second, silkier nightgown that she’d brought with her. Less revealing than the lace one from their wedding night and following morning, but still able to provoke the same feelings. “And I think the best way for us to show each other all the good,” she ran her foot across the sheets until her toes began massaging his thigh. “and all the bad—is in this room.”

He gently took hold of her teasing foot. Thumb running along her arch, fingers running up her calf, and then hand stroking over her thigh until it reached the hem of her nightgown. His eyes fluttered, and he sighed desperately. “Well, ‘ _in this room’_ it is, then.”

 

 

 

 

“Let’s see,” Lizzie scratched her nails over the light dusting of hair on his chest. “Favorite food?”

His hand paused from where he’d been stroking the small of her back, skimming the edge of the sheets they were wrapped in. “I’d have to say _, la Lotte Armoricaine_.”

“Of course it would be French food.” She giggled, pressing her cheek into his neck. “But monkfish? Oh, Harry.” She touched her forefinger to his chin, crinkling her nose “I don’t have to learn to cook it, do I?”

“No, I know how to cook it.” Harry grabbed the finger before it left his chin and joined their hands together. “And it’s really good. You’ll like it,” He kissed her palm. “And yours? Favorite food.”

“ _Chole Paneer Masala_.”

“Indian food, naturally.” He laughed out loud, making her cheek vibrate against his chest. “At least I actually _lived_ in France.”

“And I’ve lived in London for five years, that makes me not exactly unfamiliar with Indian food.” She poked him in the side, stopping his laughter. “And no, you don’t have to learn to cook it. _I_ don’t even know how to cook it, since there’s an Indian restaurant in every neighborhood and they all deliver.” She yawned, closing her eyes. “I hope the restaurant near our new house is good.”

“Well,” he ran a hand through her tousled hair. “if it isn’t, we can sneak off to your favorite restaurant as much as you want.”

 

 

 

 

“Unbelievable, how can you say that?” Harry exclaimed in offense and let loose his grip on her foot so it fell into his lap. He glared at her where she lay opposite him on the bed. “It’s the best movie of all time!”

“Yes, if you’re eleven years old. But you have to grow up sometime.” Lizzie groaned and let her head fall back on her pillow. “And if it were on the telly when I walked into the room, I wouldn’t search all over Christendom for the remote control to change the channel. But ‘ _cinematic masterpiece’_? I really think not. I mean……. _Star Wars_?”

“That’s it—I’m not rubbing your feet anymore.” He pushed her foot back to the bed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t like _Star Wars_ , I’ve never heard such a thing.”

She sat up again and hooked her fingers behind his bare knee. “No! You promised you’d rub them for a half hour, and we haven’t even passed the fifteen-minute mark.”

“Well, that was before I discovered my wife has horrid taste in movies.”

“Okay, okay,” she stretched her arms above her head, knowing full well that the sheets would slip down and grant him a fine view of her bare breasts, and hoping it would weaken his resolve. “I’ll admit the first trilogy was good. But the second trilogy? The movies that started coming out in the late ‘90’s? You at least have to concede that they’re bad!”

“ _The Phantom Menace_ and the two that came after were film abominations, I agree. Most fans prefer to live under the delusion those films were never made.” He laughed heartily and grabbed her foot again, placing a kiss to the ankle. “But have you seen the latest two? They’re really good.”

She laughed loudly. “No, I haven’t seen them, because once again, I’m not eleven years old.”

“So………what are _your_ favorite movies, Miss Sophisticated Adult?”

“ **Mrs.** Sophisticated Adult, thank you very much.” She stuck out her tongue, but then closed her eyes as she thought. “Um, _Slumdog Millionaire_ , _Shakespeare in Love_ —”

“Ugh, it’s like you’re deliberately trying to antagonize me.” He hung his head in disdain. “ _Shakespeare in Love_ , really?”

She held up her hands in exasperation. “How can you be English and not like _Shakespeare in Love_?”

“If Gwyneth Paltrow and Ben Affleck are on the screen affecting terrible English accents, then the movie has nothing to do with being English!”

She poked his stomach with her other foot. “Alright, fine. Let me think of some more films.”

He chuckled lowly. “Think carefully. Our very marriage hangs in the balance, York.”

“Okay…..you’ve probably never heard of it, but—” she smiled sweetly. “ _The Natural_.”

His mouth dropped open in awe, and a serene expression came onto his face. “Robert Redford. Baseball movie.”

She nodded, the same wistful look on her face. “You _know_ it?”

He nodded back. “I love that movie.”

“My father spent a year at Harvard during his schooling. Fell in love with the Boston Red Sox, and baseball. He went to as many games as he could.” Her smile widened in happy remembrance. “He loved that movie.”

“Jasper and I go to Fenway Park whenever I visit him in New Bedford.” He leaned forward, beyond pleased when she leaned forward as well, meeting him halfway. “We can go together—when _we_ visit him in America.”

She wrapped a gentle hand around the back of his neck. “I’d like that.”

“Last scenes of the film, Redford knocks the ball out of the park, hitting and shattering the stadium lights.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Sparks fall all around the field as he runs the bases.”

He could feel her sweet breath on his cheek when she spoke, “Beautiful.”

His lips brushed against hers. And he’d never been so happy to be somewhere in his life. “Beautiful.”

 

 

 

 

“Cassiopeia.” Lizzie pointed directly up, through the skylight to the clear night sky. “You have five seconds.”

“Um.” Harry rubbed his forehead, sitting behind her in the bathtub. “Queen who was vain, mother to…….”

“You know it, come on,” she nudged his leg playfully where it cradled her and turned her face up under his jaw. “you know it, Tudor.”

“Andromeda!!” He shouted proudly, wrapping his arms around her middle and dropping a kiss to her wet shoulder. “Placed in the sky as punishment for enraging Poseidon.” He grinned at her, quirking a questioning brow. “Alright, my turn. You ready, York? Only Millennium Problem to ever be solved?”

“Oh, this is mathematics, you just talked about them! Um, um…….oh, guy with the beard!” She sat up straight, leaving him bereft of feeling her curves sliding against him.

He chuckled, running his fingers through her wet locks. “That’s actually _not_ the name of the proof.”

“……I’ve got it!” She turned so that her front was pressed to his, causing water to slosh out onto the floor, and crawled to where her mouth was directly above his. “Perelman and the Poincare Conjecture.”

“Ugh, Lizzie,” he moaned happily and gave her lip a tiny bite. “we might be on our way to near perfect for each other.”

 

 

 

 

The light, gauzy dress she wore to sit out with him on the balcony had allowed the sun to kiss her in all the right places, warming her skin as the last vestiges of daylight faded into night. Now the same dress allowed the evening breeze to cool that same skin. The sea air blew through her already bed-tousled hair and she tucked a few strands behind her ear to keep it in place.

She stood beside him, both their elbows leaning on the deck railing, looking down into the sea moving beneath their ship. He looked over and gave her a gentle smile.

“My turn.” She smiled back the same. “Okay, here’s a heavy one…….worst time of your life?”

“Wow, that is……but we did say the good _and the bad_.” He looked out to where the horizon had been visible just a little while ago. “Um, the year I turned seventeen. I think that’s a horrid year for just about any kid. My mother was putting unbelievable pressure on me to be the best in all my academics—even though I usually always was.” He blew out a deep breath. “And my stepfather died, Henry Stafford. We didn’t spend that much time together, but he was always kind to me. Then Mother remarried Lord Stanley very soon after, and it just made me very angry with her.”

“You angry with your mother?” She began facetiously, bringing a faux-shocked hand to her chest. “I don’t believe it.”

He laughed at her attempt to lighten the mood. “And while the marriage was still very new she told me it might be best if I didn’t come home during break.”

“ _Harry_.” She touched his shoulder sympathetically.

“I didn’t really like spending time at Bletsoe anyway, but to be _asked_ not to come. It did hurt.” He rubbed his eyes in remembered sadness. “And Jasper was severely injured that year.”

“What?” She whispered in concern. “How?”

“He fell while riding. With me, in Brittany.” He shook his head. “We were alone, in the middle of nowhere. And it was hours before I could get him help. He was in hospital for quite some time. You might have noticed he still has a slight limp.”

“I noticed a _very_ slight limp, but—”

“But even with the limp, he’s still a better dancer than me?” He smirked, nudging her.

“Stop that. I’ll never say another bad word about your dancing.” She nudged him back, running a hand over his upper arm. “Since it means the world to me that you even tried in the first place.”

Several long moments passed before he spoke carefully. “I feel I don’t even have to ask, but…….what was the worst time of your life?”

She sighed heavily, looking down to the dark water. “Well, hearing my mother scream bloody murder and then running into my father’s study to find him dead on the floor, that certainly wasn’t pleasant. But worst time……..was _Edward_.”

He placed his hand over hers on the railing. “I know.”

“He was so excited to go on that ski trip with his friends, I still vividly remember his smile when we saw him off at the airport.” She pulled on his hand until he wrapped his arms around her. “The call came in the evening, from the hospital. Mother chartered a plane to Switzerland that night. I begged her to let me come, but she said that as the oldest York, I had to stay at the manor to be head of my family.”

“It’s difficult when parents lay upon us,” he ran a gentle thumb over her cheek. “tasks that seem heavy enough to crush us.”

“She was there with him for five days, and every day, I begged her to let me come. She told me I wouldn’t want to see him that way, but I told her I wanted to be there when he woke up.” She closed her eyes and laid her forehead on his chest. “The line went silent, and that’s when I knew—he was never _going to_ wake up. And then when it happened that night, I had to be the one to tell my siblings. Those of us who remained.”

He tenderly pulled her face back to look into her eyes. “It kind of filtered down to me during that time that your family was handling the tragedy well, and with great dignity.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Mother just made sure it _seemed_ that way. I barely left the house. Cecily left the house _every night_ , partying and getting high with some guy named Ralph. Richard had to be put in clinic a few times, and my sister Anne didn’t speak for over a year—she’s the one you haven’t met yet.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Lizzie giggled to herself, remembering. “Little did we know that the whole time Anne wasn’t speaking to us, she was teaching herself to speak _several new languages_. Mother kept wanting to send her to specialist, with my brother Thomas telling Mother to just give it time. They were even arguing about it when Anne came downstairs and finally started speaking. In Portuguese. Then in German. Then in Italian.”

“How old was she?” Henry chuckled lowly.

“Thirteen. Mother thought she was having some sort of fit. It wasn’t until one of the housemaids who _was_ Portuguese recognized that Anne was speaking it fluently.” Lizzie laughed so hard, she was doubling over. “We laughed so hard that night, it was the first amusement we’d had in ages. And then when it was time for Anne to go to school, she loved and was so good at learning languages—that’s what she studied.”

“She’s in the Navy now?”

“Linguistics and Translator Corps.” Lizzie nodded proudly, patting his chest. “You’ll love her, and I’m sure she’ll love you. I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet her, but the wedding was short notice and it’s not that easy to obtain leave from Bahrain. She should be home for a fortnight at the end of summer, though.”

Henry smiled down at her, glad the sadness was past them, but happy they no longer shied away from revealing it to each other. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

 

 

 

 

In the dead of that night, Harry couldn’t sleep. And by the sliding of her bare legs against his, he knew Lizzie was not yet asleep, either. He knew he shouldn’t ask, knew he might not like the answer she’d give him. But he also knew he’d be able to think of very little else until he did.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips to the crown of her head. “Lizzie?”

“Hmm.” Her voice lilted out.

“Is……..” he took a fortifying breath. “is the sadness of Edward’s death now compounded by the fact that if he hadn’t died—you wouldn’t have had to marry me?”

Lizzie pulled away from where he spooned her, shooting straight up in bed and turning so she was looming over him. Harry’s eyes had to adjust quickly to notice her incredulous expression as she softly asked, “ _What_ did she do to you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Huh?”

“What on earth did your mother _do to you_ that after everything we’ve…….these past few days….that you _still_ doubt what—” she ran her hands through her hair in frustration. “Jesus Christ, am I just not being obvious enough? I feel like I’m being obvious.”

“About what?” He shook his head at her as he sat up. “Lizzie, the question is just a result of the reality of our situation.”

“Fuck the reality of our situation, Harry Tudor!” She uttered through clenched teeth.

“Lizzie, I didn’t mean to— The last thing I meant was for you……” He held out his hand to her, breathing hard as his heart beat wildly because he knew he had to tell her all his fears. “It’s just, a tide has turned in me with how deeply I feel for you, and there’s this part of me that’s terrified it’s all one-sided and someday soon, I’m gonna get dropped from a great height because you don’t feel the same.”

“You’re a total loon, you know that?.” She pushed on his chest, ducking her eyes away. “The sadness of Edward’s death is only compounded by the fact that he wasn’t _at my wedding_. Not by the fact there had to _be a wedding_.” She let out a trembling breath, looking up at him shyly. “You’ve stopped being something I have to suffer through, a long time ago, in fact.” Her fingertips traced a pattern on his collarbone. “You’re worming your way in, little by little.”

He laughed softly, holding her fingers to his skin. “So, I’m a worm, huh?”

“A very efficient one, too. And successful.” She laughed back at him, tilting her head. “We’re going to have a great many things in this marriage that—because of the way it happened—we’ll be unsure how the other feels. But I don’t want one of them to be how we feel about the marriage _itself_.” She pressed her cheek to his, and he could feel her light breath in his ear. “I’m happy we’re married. Strange mercies, it seems.”

“I’m happy we’re married too.” He kissed her lightly, wrapping his arms around her middle and pulling them back down to the bed. He sighed happily when she sidled back into him and he pulled his legs up behind hers. “I have a feeling you’ll be the grace of my life, Lizzie York. I wonder if I’ll ever deserve you.”

She craned her head to look into his eyes. “You will.” She ran a comforting hand along his forearm. “You _do_.”

 

 

 

 

He gave one last moan into her neck as his muscles finally relaxed, and his open mouth placed a hot kiss under her ear. She loved that. Her hands stayed threaded in his hair and he remained over her for a few moments as he got his breathing under control, staring deeply into her eyes. She stared right back, whimpering slightly from the feel of his hand still cupping her breast and thumb softly stroking across her nipple. Finally, he rolled off her and to her side. She wiped the sweat from her brow and chest, where her pounding heart seemed ready to burst free.

He wrapped his hand around the curve of her shoulder and gently pulled her into his body until she laid pressed into him, half on top of him. His other hand reached over and brushed a sweaty lock of hair back from her temple, working its way down to caress the apple of her cheek. He grinned at her.

She _liked_ him. Oh dear god, did she like him.

She liked the sound of his voice. The way he made her laugh, the way _she_ made _him_ laugh. His child-like curiosity. The way he seemed utterly determined to take care of her. She like being beside him, under him, over him. She liked the feel of their skin sliding and pressed against each other.

She would want that every day. It’s why she went happily when he asked her to bed. It’s why _she_ asked _him_ to bed just as often. There was just one problem.

She wasn’t having orgasms. It all felt good. Everything felt _good_. Being close to him made her happy, and she enjoyed it. But that earth-shattering _thing_ that burst white behind your eyes and shivered all the way down to your toes when all that enjoyment led to the same place? It just wasn’t happening.           `

And it was driving her a little mad, because she was seriously into him. What she felt with Harry after eight weeks was greater than what she felt with her last boyfriend after eighteen months. And yet somehow, old Charles—selfish, distant, arrogant ex-boyfriend Charles—rattled her windows open every time. Whereas with Harry—the man with whom she knew she wanted to spend her life—her windows remained firmly latched.

There was no physical, or anatomical impediment with either of them. No indifference on his part to see her satisfied. No lack of chemistry or emotion between them. She wanted his hands on her, his body against her. Her heart beat wildly when he touched her, her breath quickened, her skin grew hot. And yet when it came time for the bubble to burst, it _didn’t_. She was left to just deflate.

The idea of a lifetime of not being able to experience that with him caused her heart to sink. The more she thought about it, the more it chiseled its way into her insecurities, the more it seemed further and further away. An unattainable goal. A part of being an instant wife and sharing herself with her husband that she was failing at.

Another point that niggled in her brain was the fact that Harry didn’t know anything was amiss. Because despite her feminist ideologies and belief that pandering to the opposite sex belittled who she was a modern woman, while also narrowing lines of therapeutic sexual communication—she was faking her orgasms.

Because she liked him. Oh dear god, did she like him.

Later that afternoon, Harry napped in the bed while she lounged in a nearby chair, smiling at the sated, content look on his sleeping face. Her heart beat a little faster with the idea that she might be the cause of that. But the horrible, self-destructive part of her that could never resist opening the proverbial can of worms, worried if that contentment she’d caused in him was built partly on a lie.

She quietly and carefully found her phone and—in what would surely go down in the texting hall of fame as the neediest, craziest, most insecure, rambling stream-of-consciousness texts of all time—contacted her sister for her advice.

The last line of Lizzie’s text read: **What do I do?**

The reply she got was typical Cecily.

**C-York : **What do you do? Well, for starters you **CALM THE F-TRAIN DOWN** , Elizabeth Jacquetta York!!! Christ, are you trying to give yourself a heart attack?! And talk about psyching yourself out. You’ve been faced with unbelievable stress these last few weeks and you’re sure to face much more when you get home. Try as you might to forget it, the reality of that is forever in your mind and could be fucking with your biological functions. You like him. This is good. Just focus on that and don’t worry about what is and isn’t happening _yet._ Chill. Enjoy the husband that you weren’t sure you’d ever enjoy. And now that I’ve helped ease your worry a little, maybe you could tell me—is Harry Tudor a screamer? Part of me thinks he seems like a screamer. ;P

 

Lizzie left her chair and crept back on the bed, placing her hand on his chest right over Harry’s heart. His hand found hers and tangled their fingers before he even fully woke up. When he did though, she was the first thing he saw, and he smiled warmly at her.

“Hi.” His voice was little more than a rasp.

“Hi.” She whispered back, crawling over him to straddle his bare waist. “You know, our four days on the ship are over tomorrow. Let’s cast aside our hermit lifestyle tonight and at least go to the restaurant.” She gazed down at him and slowly slinked her camisole up her naked body and over her head. “I feel like showing off the husband that I was lucky enough to have forced upon me.”

 

 

 

 

He felt her mouth on his neck, her open kisses pulling him into daylight in the best way he could think of. He opened his eyes to meet a mop of tousled blonde hair.

He sighed blissfully. “Lizzie.”

“Morning.” She placed one last kiss on his chin before she sat back up and reached over to grab a cup from the bedside table. “Tea.”

He gazed appreciatively at her face, sitting up against the pillows and taking the cup. “Could you get me the milk and—’

“Already in there.” She smiled back warmly, wrapped up in her robe and winking as she moved off the bed. “Milk and one sugar. I _know_ how you take your tea, Harry.”

He smiled fondly at that statement, watching her open the closet and pull out one of her bags. “You packing?”

“Not much to pack. We didn’t take much out of our bags.” She shot him a sexy, teasing smirk, dropping the luggage on her empty side of the bed and unzippering it. “Just nightgowns, knickers and clean boxer shorts.”

He laughed soundly and stretched his arm behind him, so it pillowed his head. “We disembark at 11:00am. Are you looking forward to Greece?”

She nodded happily as she folded a few items and placed them inside her bag. “Just from what I can see along the coastline, it looks beautiful. And I’ve loved it when I’ve been before.”

“I’m excited, I’ve never been.” He shyly looked to his lap. “But are you……going to miss the ship?”

“I am.” She smiled shyly in return. She then abandoned her packing and got back on the bed, curling into his side and wrapping her arms around his waist. “This ship has been good to us.”

He kissed her forehead. “Yes, it has. But I’m looking forward to what comes next…. _all_ of it.”

“Well, then,” she sat up again and playfully poked him in the stomach. “Best get up, Tudor. This is not the morning for lollygagging about!”

 

 

 


	6. It's All Greek to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive in Greece, have fun at the resort, then take a special day trip to Athens for some sight-seeing and a special surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to keep this merely skittering the edge of dirty, sexy fanfic, but I might have to move the rating of future chapters into Explicit territory because, well,.......because.

The moment they stepped off the gangway and onto the solid ground of the island, they saw a man standing beside a Range Rover holding a sign that read _TUDOR._ Lizzie and Harry both walked to the car, with her shouldering only her purse while his hands were completely free, except for holding hers.

Lizzie smiled warmly at the man. “That’s us.”

He nodded back to her, opening the back door. “Mr. and Mrs. Tudor, I’m to carry you to the resort, your bags are already in the trunk.”

Harry slipped inside after Lizzie, giving a simple, “Thank you.”

The ride was quiet, neither speaking as Lizzie rested her head on his shoulder and Harry leaned his face into the crown of her head, breathing in the lavender scent of her shampoo. The ride was also winding, with gently curving roads that seemed to be taking them up a cliff. Because they were.

The resort was built into the side of a cliff-face, looking out over a breathtaking, glistening, turquoise-watered cove. The buildings were white-washed, nicely offsetting the light brown of the rocks and the sandy beaches below them.

There was a main hotel with a restaurant and pool down at the bottom on the shoreline, but also individual villas making their way up the cliffside. Harry knew from the information packet he’d been given while still in London, that theirs was a penthouse villa—off to the side a little and at the very top, with a private winding staircase down to the beach, their own small saltwater pool, and an unobstructed view out onto the distant reaches of the cove.

They walked through the main doors of the resort and made their way to the front desk. Harry moved forward to speak, but before he could, Lizzie took over communicating the check-in details and logistics of their arrival with the agents—in Greek. And from what he could tell by the genuine smiles and impressed faces at the desk—fluent Greek.

She turned back to him and grinned. “They said the villa is completely ready, and if we just want to amble around for ten minutes, or have a drink, our bags will be there as well.”

“You speak Greek.” He beamed and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Of course you speak Greek! How am I even remotely surprised that you speak Greek?”

“I don’t know, Tudor.” She flung her arms around his neck. “Not realizing I _did_ …..is kind of dropping the ball on how impressed you should be at your new wife’s intelligence.”

He placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Impressed _and proud_.”

Suddenly a voice spoke up from behind the desk and the older woman who had checked them in. “ _Ah, newlyweds_. Even if we didn’t already know it was your honeymoon….we’d know, huh?” She nudged the younger attendant beside her and they both smiled and laughed happily. “True love, yes?”

Harry and Lizzie both ducked their heads shyly, but otherwise stayed holding each other in the middle of the lobby.

 

 

 

 

They had been curled up on the outdoor sofa of their terrace for what Harry guessed was nearly three hours. He didn’t quite know. The only clues as to the deepening of the night were the stars above getting brighter and clearer, and the softening of the music playing in the restaurant below from jubilant and thumping songs heard earlier in the evening, into the gentle and lilting tunes signifying that it was time to retire.

He stared at the dying flame in the stone firepit before them, listening to the soft notes of the mandolin and zurna float up the cliffside to their cozy terrace. Lizzie’s head laid on his chest, her hand snuck under his shirt to rest above his heart. His leg was gently wedged between hers.

“Are you awake?” He whispered into her hair.

“Yes.” She raised her head and laid her chin to his collarbone, total honesty shining in her eyes as she stared into his. “I almost don’t want to go to sleep, I’m not wanting the night to end.”

“I know how you feel.” He ran his forefinger down her cheek and traced over the top bow of her lip. He chuckled shyly. “But right now, I think we have to decide if we’re staying out here, because if we’re in this position for much longer, my leg that’s wedged between yours will be too asleep to move, and then we won’t have the option of the bed.”

“Oh dear.” She sat up carefully, getting off the sofa. “Harry, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well,” he took her outstretched hand and let her help him up too, winking at her as he stood fully. “I don’t know if you noticed, but that was a pretty nice place for me to be.”

She smacked him lightly on the arm and giggled, then pulled back to check him over. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah,” he shook and shimmed his leg and hip around, swinging his body in a circle. “just give me a second.”

She giggled again loudly, noting his movements. She stepped back into his side with a teasing smirk. “You know, you’re almost dancing.”

“Oh, no.” He laughed loudly, shaking his finger. “I think we’ve established—”

Her open mouth placed a hot, long kiss on his neck, stopping his thought. “You say you can’t dance, but really, you’re only thinking of a specific type of dancing. The kind you dance at society cocktail parties and weddings—with steps, and swinging, and twirling, and dipping.” She began undoing the last few buttons on his loose shirt, slowly pushing it off his shoulders and down onto the terrace floor. “But there are other forms of dancing.”

He gulped dazedly. “And you think I can do them?”

“I think you have been. For the last five days…..with me.” She bit her lip and ran both her palms up his bare chest, finally laying them on the nape of his neck. “Listen to the music now.” They both tilted their heads in the direction of the low and gentle thrumming, almost wave-like melody, and tinkling notes floating up to them.

He thumbed a spaghetti strap of her summer dress, letting it drop from her shoulder. “Not like the band music at our engagement or wedding parties.”

“This kind of music, you don’t move your partner around. You hold them close.” She pressed her chest into his, her soft breasts free and unencumbered by a bra, pushing into his skin with only the thin fabric of her dress between them. “You put your hand in the small of their back. I know you know how to do that, it’s become one of your hand’s favorite places.”

He placed his warm hand there, licking his lips as he stared into her eyes. “And what do I do with my other?”

“You can do anything you want with it.” She let out a sultry chuckle. “You can join it back there with its twin.” She held up her hand, wiggling her fingers. “Or you can join it with your partner’s hand.”

“Like this?” He took her hand and entwined them, putting his cheek to hers. “And then what?”

“You _sway_.” She breathed hotly into his ear. “Side to side. Back and forth. Not caring about any other rhythm than your own.”

They moved with each other—just like that—for a couple of minutes. Not a very long time, but for the depth of what transpired, radiating between their heartbeats and shared breaths, it felt like a beautiful eternity.

His lips brushed against the shell of her ear, voice raspy with desire. “It can’t be that easy.”

“It’s not.” She unfurled their joined hands and placed his at the last upright strap of her dress. “Because to _truly_ do it right, you have to find the right person.” She sighed when his fingers pushed the strap down, stepping back slightly for the dress to pool at her feet. “And not everyone finds them.”

He let out a broken exhale at seeing her before him in nothing but a scrap of sexy knickers and fire-lit porcelain skin. He leaned in to kiss her desperately, sliding his tongue against hers and tugging on her lips in between their shared deep moans. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his body and lifting her feet slightly off the ground. She ran her hands through his hair, rasping out his name.

“Fuck,” he mumbled out between long kisses, setting her back on the ground so his hands could hotly palm her breasts. “I want you so much.”

“I know.” She placed wet kisses over his face and neck as she unbuttoned his cargo shorts and pulled the zipper down. “I know, I know.” Her kisses began moving down his chest after he kicked away his shorts. “No one can see us?”

He tangled his hands in her rapidly descending head of hair and looked around. The darkness and the highest elevation of their villa meant they were shielded from the eyes of others. “No, no one can see us.” He found her elbow and was attempting to pull her back to the sofa—when she dropped to her knees in front of him. He looked down to see her fevered eyes staring back up at him.

She licked her lips, hands placed at his hips waiting for the go-ahead to pull down his boxers. “This okay?”

“Oh, Lizzie.” He dropped his head back, looking up to the sky full of stars as he moaned. “Nothing has ever been _this_ okay.”

Without even noticing the dropping of his boxers, he felt her soft hand _around_ and light breath _against_ his member. That light breath distinctly huffed out a giggle. “You did seem to enjoy when I did this on the ship.”

“Ship, planes, trains, automobiles…….and I very much look forward to it happening in our bed back home, as well.” He looked down at her again, his fingers finding their favorite place sliding through her blonde locks. “Would you think me a total pervert if I told you that I adore looking down and seeing your beautiful face while you’re on your knees?”

She ran the flat of her tongue along the underside of him, circling it over the tip. “Would you consider me a wanton girl if I told you I love watching you kiss your way down my body to bury your mouth between my thighs?”

“Maybe I _want_ you to be a wanton girl,” he nearly choked when he felt her mouth finally fully take him in, only just croaking out, “as long as it’s just for me.”

She hummed around him, slowly pulling back off. “Maybe I don’t mind you being a little bit of a pervert,” she purred as her hand moved the wetness from her mouth along his whole length. “since it’s just for me.”

“For the record,” he traced a soft thumb over her cheekbone. “I also adore looking _up_ and seeing your beautiful face while I’ve got my mouth between your thighs.”

She groaned out ardently, giving him a slight pout. “Tudor, I’m trying to do something here. And you saying things like that? It’s very distracting.”

“Well, then,” he pulled her up off her knees and wrapped his arms around her middle, lifting her feet off the ground and walking them inside the villa. He kissed her deeply throughout the journey. “let’s remove all distractions so you can get your _something_ done.” They both chuckled as she bounced slightly when he dropped her onto their enormous bed. He crawled after her, fingers traveling up her leg to hook into her tiny knickers. “And then I’ll get to work doing what _I_ love.”

 

 

She’d felt something. Thank the Lord.

It was soft, gentle, some would even say small. But it was big for her. For them. A big deal.

She had been laid out on the bed, open terrace doors allowing the sea breeze to whisper over her bare, heated skin. Her hands had tangled in his hair as he knelt on the bed and put his mouth to her, and every breath she expelled seemed to have had his name on it. Her head kept moving from side to side on the pillow as she focused on what he was doing to her.

He was a determined one, she’d give him that. After all, she knew he had some wild days growing up in France, so that should give an idea as to how skilled he was with his lips and tongue. It thrilled her that all that determination was focused on her. And she could tell he’d loved what he was doing as his mouth would disappear between her legs and he’d moan lowly, his grip on her thighs growing tighter.

She had just pushed her head back into the pillow and cast her eyes to the ceiling when he rasped out her name in the most desperate, fevered voice she’d ever heard. _“Lizzie.”_

Her eyes shot straight to his and caught him gazing up at her—for only the tiniest moment, but it was _enough_ —before they’d shut tight of their own accord and a gentle shiver rolled through her whole body. With her feeling like she was floating light as air, and only the brilliant touch of his clever mouth on her folds kept her anchored to him.

She’d come back down quickly, it wasn’t like one of those times when your whole body seized up while your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you spent minutes shuddering with waves of pleasure. But it was good, really good. And she’d felt it with her _husband._

His head now laid pillowed on her breasts while he snored softly, his arms wrapped tight around her middle as her fingers combed through his hair. Okay, she could work with this. She really could.

 

 

 

 

He slowly twirled them around in the water, her arms wrapped around his neck and legs tangled in his, their lips lazily brushing against each other. The water was warm and clear, the wind was gentle, and the sun was shining high. They were far enough out in the tide that they had privacy, but could still hear the happy shouts and laughter of the people back on the shore.

She tilted her head back all the way to wet her hair and the crown of her head. As she did it, he held onto her middle and leaned over her to place gentle kisses into her neck. “You’re going to be red as a lobster by the time we get back to London, even with sunscreen.”

She pulled back up to playfully bite his lower lip. “You’re not exactly the type to sport a golden tan, either.”

“Well, what do you say we take a break from the sun and water for a bit?” He pushed a wet strand away that had stuck to her jaw. “We could take the ferry into Athens, see some of the ruins.”

Her eyes widened in excitement. “You’d want to do that?”

“It seems odd that you study Ancient Greece and yet we’re in Greece, but _not_ seeing any of the sights. And it’s is a huge part of your life, but I barely know anything about it.” He grinned and snuck his hand down into her bikini bottoms, cupping her ass. “I’ll see the ruins with my own eyes and have my own private, incredibly brilliant tour guide to teach me all about them.”

She smiled happily and put her forehead to his. “We could at least see the Acropolis.”

He kissed her deeply. “I’ll have the front desk arrange ferry tickets for us tomorrow.”

 

 

 

 

Harry stared down at the guide map and then looked up and around aimlessly. The Acropolis was glorious and awe-inspiring—but enormous and busy. With tourists and guided tours constantly passing by him through the ruins, making him feel like _really was_ packed into a thriving temple complex.

He turned to Lizzie, “Okay, I’m not going by the map. You’ve been here four times—”

“Six.” She corrected with a proud grin. “Counting today.”

“Fine, then.” He chuckled back, folding the map pack up. “We’re not gonna amble about through a thousands-of-years old megaplex.” He leaned in next to her and kissed her head. “Take me to your favorite place.”

“Yeah?” She raised a happy brow. “Okay, that would be the Porch of the Maidens.”

“Are you sure you’re allowed to go there?” He whispered teasingly in her ear. “For you are most decidedly _no longer a maiden_.”

“I’m going to tickle you to death right here in front of all these people amidst the ruins of an ancient temple, Harry Tudor.” She warned, wrapping her arm around him and kissing his chin. “It’s a marble porch at the top of the Acropolis, and six statues of maidens are standing sentinel, holding up the roof.” She straightened her back determinedly. “It’s sort of an ancient testimony to the power of women, in the temple of what some would say was the most powerful of all the goddesses.”

He smiled brightly, gesturing onward. “Lead the way.”

 

 

His eyes kept darting around and she didn’t know why. He’d listened carefully while she told him all about the Porch, and appeared to be genuinely interested, even asking her insightful questions with a curious grin on his face. But then he suggested that they sit down, and he seemed to become distant and anxious, looking around the ruins and down at his watch.

“Are you bored?” She began carefully. “Because we can go somewhere else. Or if you’re worried about catching the ferry—”

“The ferry runs every three hours.” He leaned in next to her, nudging her shoulder. “If we miss it, then we just condemn ourselves to three more hours in one of the greatest cities in human history.”

She quirked a disbelieving brow. “Then what’s your deal?”

“ _Deal_?” He shook his head. “I don’t have a deal.”

“Yes, you do.” She nodded firmly, in the beginnings of agitation. “You’re looking around constantly, and checking your watch, and—”

Suddenly, a new, sweet voice spoke up from behind her. “ _Hello, big sister_.”

Lizzie’s eyes widened, and her heart almost stopped beating at hearing the familiar sound. She looked at Harry in complete disbelief, and he just beamed back at her—intensely pleased with the surprise.

Lizzie turned around to see her little sister, now looking the epitome of a strong, accomplished woman in her blue navy fatigues with her blonde hair in a smart, low chignon. “ _Anne_.”

She jumped up and ran the few steps to wrap her sister up in a tight hug. She squealed in laughter and planted small, quick kisses all over her face.

“Okay, now, you’re embarrassing me.” Anne pulled back laughing, grasping both Lizzie’s arms with an enormous smile. “Lizzie, you’re here! And you’re married!”

“I know,” Lizzie shook her head, still smiling back at Anne. “It’s unbelievable……oh God—forgive me, I’m being rude.” Lizzie’s eyes widened in embarrassment, turning back to Harry, who now stood behind her. “Anne, this is Harry, my husband.”

Harry came forward and held out his hand. “Anne, it’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Yes, put a face to the voice and all that.” Anne took his hand, even stepping forward to kiss his cheek. “Thank you so much for all this.”

“All this?” Lizzie questioned with a furrowed brow, before her face smoothed back out in amazed realization. “Of course you planned this.” She pressed into his side and kissed him briefly, eyes so full of gratitude it took his breath away. “Thank you, Harry. Thank you, so much.” She then looked to Anne, a huge grin splitting her face. “How?”

“A few weeks ago, Harry called me at HMS Jufair, then we both started calling our uncle, Commodore Lord Scales,” Anne informed her quickly. “Uncle Edward managed to wrangle up a two-day temporary duty assignment for me at the Cyprus base, and I flew in from Bahrain the night before last. But the translation job only took three hours.” She smiled gratefully at Harry. “So, I was granted a twenty-four- hour furlough, and Harry made sure a plane ticket to Athens was waiting for me at the Larnaca airport.”

Lizzie looked at Harry in wonderment. “You started planning all this _weeks ago_?”

“Yeah,” Harry ducked his head shyly. “when the news came that Anne couldn’t get leave to be at the wedding.”

“But when I talked about her,” Lizzie still spoke in amazement. “you never let on that you knew much about her, or that any of this would happen. And you made it seem like coming to Athens was a spur of the moment thing.”

“Yes…….the _surprise_.” He grinned back at her, putting his arm around her shoulders. “It was worth all the trickery just to see your face.”

“And of course you’d take him to the Porch of the Maidens.” Anne interjected with a knowing smirk. “I told him you would. And that I’d meet you here, at your favorite place.”

“You’re wasting your talents in economics, Harry Tudor.” She laughed loudly, stroking his arm. “You should be a secret agent.”

“Well, big sister,” Anne clapped, turning Lizzie’s attention back to her. “I have to be back at the airport in five hours,” Anne jumped up and down slightly in excitement. “but until then, I’m all yours.”

 

 

Harry had excused himself from the café and wandered over to the shop across the street, saying he wanted to peruse for souvenirs for Lizzie’s little sisters and Teddy, maybe even Richard. That left Anne and Lizzie at the table, picking off pieces of their shared Mosaiko cookies. Lizzie kept looking out the window, following Harry’s every step.

“So,” Anne cleared her throat knowingly, regaining Lizzie’s attention. “do we like him?”

Lizzie beamed at her, chewing her lip slightly. “What do you _think_?”

“I like the hell out of him, doing all this for us.” Anne smiled back, reclining in her chair. “But, even with all this, as your sister—if you didn’t like him, I’d be required not to like him either.”

Lizzie looked straight ahead at her sister, seriousness in her expression. “I like him very much.”

“I’m glad.” A slow grin spread over Anne’s face. “He likes you too.”

“I hope so.” Lizzie took in a deep, expectant breath. “I know he’s a nice guy, and arranging this could just be because of that, and—”

“No, nope this is not happening.” Anne interrupted her, shaking her head decisively. “That is the self-conscious, insecure Lizzie poking her head into your marriage and she has _no place in it_.” She reached across the table and covered Lizzie’s hand with hers. “He didn’t do all this simply because he’s _a nice guy_. And men don’t look at women the way Harry looks at you, just because _they’re nice_.”

“We’ve been wading our way into it, and it’s been _lovely_.” Lizzie grinned a secret grin, but it fell slightly, and she furrowed her brow. “The true test will come when we get back to London and try to live our same lives….only with a husband or wife.”

“Well, you _can’t_ live the same lives.” Anne shrugged matter-of-factly. “Sorry, but that ship sailed the moment Mother and Margaret Beaufort put forth your contract to the House of Lords. But you can live a new life, that belongs to the both of you. And there’s just something about him……well, about _him and you_ together.” Anne looked out the window toward Harry, combing through some souvenir bins on the sidewalk. “I think the two of you will be happy.”

Lizzie smiled thoughtfully. “I think so too.”

“If that ever changes, though, and by some fluke he turns out to be a rotten husband to my favorite sister,” Anne leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Lizzie’s, continuing with a teasing lilt to her voice. “I might be just a translator, but the Royal Navy has still taught me several ways to kill a man.”

 

 

 

 

Lizzie cried when she finally had to see her sister off, and that plus the day trip to Athens drained her of her energy. They boarded the ferry and found seats on the boat’s edge. Sitting sideways, looking backward towards the stern, Lizzie was cradled between Harry’s legs and her head fell back onto his chest. From time to time, his lips would gently brush her temple.

The sun was setting, and a breeze picked up, cooling them enough that Lizzie shivered slightly, causing Harry to wrap her tighter in his arms. She turned her head to place a soft kiss under his jaw. “That was the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time.”

He ran his fingers over her fingers and his voice was tender when he replied, “You deserve to have people doing nice things for you every day.”

“It was a huge gesture.” She entwined the fingers. “I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to sufficiently return it.”

“I don’t want kindness to be _this-for-that_ between us, Lizzie.” He gently touched her jaw, making her look him in the eye. “And besides, you do lovely things for me all the time, so many that you don’t even notice when you’re doing them.”

She lifted a brow. “Yeah, like what?”

He chuckled and kissed that same brow. “You order two extra glasses of orange juice at every room-service breakfast, just because you know I love it. You claimed the three freckles on my shoulder blades as your own, naming them Huey, Dewey, and Louie.” He laughed so that she could feel it vibrate against her back. “That’s more goofball than lovely—but still, it _felt lovely_ that you wanted them. No one has ever claimed anything of my body as their own before.”

“Thank God.” She kissed him again, nipping his upper lip. “Because your territory is now _all mine_.”

“And in your bag right now is the Greek translation of _A Wrinkle in Time_ that you found today in the bookstore in Athens.” He smiled fondly in memory, then gratefully at her. “When you found it, you acted like you’d found the Holy Grail, so happy with your discovery, all because you remembered that I’d told you on the ship that it was my favorite book as a kid.”

She turned slightly to place her cheek on his chest, blissful to hear his quickening heartbeat against her ear. “I’ll start reading it to you tonight when we get in bed.”

He let his nose fall into her hair, inhaling its gentle lavender scent now mixing with the salt of the sea air. Happy just to be near her. “I won’t ever want to go to sleep.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, and also a special thanks to all who kudo'd--with an extra special thanks to those who've commented. :) It's truly appreciated!


	7. Good to be Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After some whining, Lizzie and Harry return home to London. Where they come face to face with the epitome of their mothers' passive-aggressive domineering, then find some comfort of their own on their first night back, before waking the next morning to let their mothers know how it's going to be from now on.

She felt the bed dip under his weight, then his soft breath near her ear, then his kisses traveling along the back of her arm. And though those kisses felt wonderful, she still refused to acknowledge them. Because she knew what he was doing.

He pulled the covers back even further from her body, and she felt the warm breeze of a Greek morning for the last time of the trip. The light brushes of his lips moved from the curve of her shoulder over to her shoulder blades, then down the middle of her back, ending with a long, wet kiss to the base of her spine.

“Okay,” he chuckled lowly, massaging the globe of her bare ass. “now I know you’re just deliberately ignoring me.” He dipped his fingers between her legs. “Lizzie. Lizzieeeeeee.”

She kicked her feet out and lifted her pillow to bury her head beneath it. A muffled groan reached his ears. “ _Go away_!”

“Lizzie, come on.” He crawled his index and middle fingers up the nobs of her spine. “We’re kind of in a crunch for time, since for international flights you now have to be at the airport _ninety-seven hours_ early, or some other ridiculous number like that.”

She finally pushed herself up, turning to face him to find him fully dressed in his cargo shorts and a t-shirt. “Then let’s not go.”

“ _Lizzie_.” He ducked his head and chuckled again.

“No, see, ‘cause this is the Mediterranean, and I study Antiquity. It’s perfect!” She pleadingly grabbed his arms. “And I speak Greek, and I could teach you, and—"

“And you could paint landscapes of the whitewashed dwellings to sell to tourists, and I could catch fish with my bare hands……. and many other dozens of ideas which we would find to be undoable in the first five minutes of trying to do them.” He continued playfully, his brows raised in amusement. “Sadly, our lives growing up as pampered members of British nobility have not equipped us for sustained livelihoods on a Greek island.”

“We wouldn’t need jobs.” She ducked her head and pouted. “As you just said, we’re pampered nobles, our families are wealthy!”

“And we would both be cut off from our _family wealth_ the moment we told them we were refusing to come home to instead live a life of pleasure and frivolity.”

Her hand slipped underneath the bottom of his t-shirt and she provocatively stroked her fingers over the planes of his stomach. “Oh, we definitely wouldn’t be the first people from British nobility to say, ‘ _screw you!_ ’ and then hide out in the Mediterranean for a life of pleasure and frivolity.”

He gave her a sly look. “As much as I’d love to spend _more_ time swimming naked with you in the sea—”

“That was _fifteen minutes_ , Tudor. And in the dark dead of night.” She poked out her tongue, simultaneously poking him in the ribs. “And you’d better not say one word—”

“My own wonderful secret, swear to God.” He gave her a wide smile and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Our lives are in England.”

“Yeah, well so are _our mothers_!!!” She groaned in reply, flopping back down to the bed. “You always hear people say ‘ _oh, the trip was wonderful, but towards the end we were missing home_ ’ and now I realize they must have been on drugs.”

“It’s rubbish, I agree. Or at least it is for _us_.” He nodded, soothingly rubbing her hip. “But I love my job, and you love yours. And despite all being said these days about telecommuting, neither one of us can do those jobs from here.”

She looked out the open terrace doors to the turquoise waters of the cove visible through the gauzy, blowing curtains. Silent for long moments before whispering, “What if it’s been so good between us, simply because we’ve been in a bubble?”

He laid down again beside her, purposely moving to block her view. “It _has_ been so good between us because we’ve been in a bubble. That’s how honeymoons work.” He lifted her chin with his forefinger. “But Lizzie, I promise you, it will be good between us back home as long as we work to _make_ it good.”

She nodded, kissing his mouth before moving down to his jaw and neck. “And as long as we work together to put on blinders to distractions and keep sight of what really matters.”

Her mouth continued its journey, pulling up the hem of his shirt to pepper his abdomen and chest with hot, open kisses. He chuckled, tangling his hands in her hair. “Uh-huh, speaking of distractions, you wouldn’t be coming on to me in the hopes of distracting me, so we miss the ferry and then our flight, would you?”

“Harry Tudor! What you’re accusing me of is shocking, and devious,” she unbuttoned his shorts, throwing her leg over his hip and then pushing him back to the bed until she straddled his waist. “and only about 80% accurate.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Of course it’d be pouring down rain the moment we get back to London.” He groaned, turning his face to kiss her head where it lay on his shoulder. He furrowed his brows. “You okay? You seem quiet.”

She hummed happily in the back of their taxi. “Xanax, two of them. The moment we boarded the plane in Greece.”

“Well, no wonder.” He laughed loudly. “Are they wearing off?”

“Yes, definitely.” She nodded, staring up at him. “But since they smoothed out the edges of leaving our wonderful honeymoon, now I realize the thing people say about trips and wanting to come home isn’t _complete_ rubbish.” She burrowed her cheek back into his shoulder. “Because it is nice to be back.”

“Well, I don’t know what condition the new house will be in, though. Probably no groceries. And I also—” he paused when she sat up away from him suddenly, then saw a strange look come over her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” her eyes widened comically. “it’s just….despite having been through our new house several times and having packed up my flat before the wedding, whenever we were on the ship or the island and I thought of us going home, it was to _my old place_.” She chuckled and tilted her head, examining him. “I mean, you were there _with me_. But whenever I pictured us back here in London, it was the both of u _s in my old flat_. Isn’t that odd?”

“Well, _I_ was always thinking of our new place.” He nodded, before winking at her. “But your old flat was a lot nicer than mine.” He grew concerned when her strange expression still had not changed. “Is it really bothering you?”

“It’s my own fault, really. And I wouldn’t want it any other way than you with me.” She blew out a breath, shaking her head. “It’s just an adjustment that I should’ve been dealing with for a lot longer than the taxi ride from Heathrow.”

“Well, I don’t know if this helps, but my mother and yours said they would make sure everything was arranged to our specifications by the time we got back.” He rubbed his forehead, tired already just from thinking of Margaret and Elizabeth. “Which I’m sure knowing them, won’t actually mean _our specifications_ , but _theirs instead_. At the very least, it means we won’t be sleeping on a mattress on the living room floor tonight, before waking up tomorrow and changing everything to the way we’d really wanted it.”

 

 

 

Harry had just thanked the taxi driver, handing the rain-soaked man an extra five-pound note for bringing the bags to just inside the house, when he shut their front door behind him to find Lizzie in the foyer, staring into their new living room.

“What’s wrong?” He shook the rain from his jacket before glancing in the same direction. He narrowed his eyes at an unfamiliar sight. “What is—?”

“I don’t know.” She replied with an even voice, not moving her eyes.

He pointed inside the room that held both their attentions. “Is that your furniture?” He groaned when she shook her head in the negative, knowing what the new furniture meant. “Son of a bitch!”

“There’s an envelope.” She gestured to a nearby table with her chin. “Addressed to us both.”

He walked to the table and took out the note inside, “ _Henry and Lizzie,_ ” he read aloud. “ _Elizabeth and I wanted to do something nice for your return_ ’—"

“It’s not all that nice if we’d told you both _not to do it_ , Margaret.” She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

“Yeah, really.” He then looked up from the note in surprise. “Wait, you _also_ told _your mother_ not to buy us furniture?”

“Harry, your mother might be bad, but every super-controlling, self-absorbed, and over-stepping plan she has ever had,” Lizzie laughed miserably. “ _my mother_ has had as well.”

He went on with the note. “— _'so, we got together to purchase you this lovely furniture that should last you long into your happy union. Sincerely, your mothers’_.” He looked up and grinned at Lizzie. “At least they’re right about the ‘ _happy union_ ’ part.”

“I wonder if they were both gritting their teeth when they wrote that part.” Lizzie smirked back, then grimaced at her words and then shrugged. “Maybe that’s not fair, I’m sure they believe they want us to be happy together…….” she left the room, shouting behind her. “just not so happy that _they_ lose control over both our lives!”

He looked over the imposing, seafoam green and salmon chintz, dark-walnut-wooded living room suite, crinkling his nose in distaste. “I think the part that’s more unbelievable is that they think this ugly furniture monstrosity is _lovely_.”

“Harry?!!!”

He heard her shout and walked into the next room after her, stopping in his tracks when he saw a flashy, neo-renaissance, light-beige marble dining table and matching chairs in the middle of their dining room. “Jesus Christ.” He ran frustrated hands over his face.

Lizzie flourished a new envelope. “This one’s addressed to me.” But handed it to him.

He opened the envelope and read it aloud as well. “ _Dear Lizzie, I do hope you and Harry accept this specially-ordered and hand-crafted Italian marble dining room set, which I bought on your behalf. Love, Mother._ ” He chuckled before pointing to the bottom of the page. “There’s a post-script, it says ‘ _Let me know if you want to get rid of that horrible bed Margaret picked out for you two_.”

“This is an ugly furniture monstrosity, too.” She stated plainly before her eyes widened in horror. “Wait, did the post-script say……. ‘ _horrible BED’_?”

His eyes grew wide in horror as well before he took off up their steep staircase. He stopped at the second floor, finding that those two rooms were jammed full of his and Lizzie’s boxed belongings and furniture—still unassembled and left either laid out on the hardwood or shoved upright against the walls. “It’s not in the guest rooms, that’s where they’ve stranded all of _our furniture_.” Harry mentally cataloged the contents of the rooms before looking around only to find she was no longer on the second floor with him.

“It’s up here, Harry!” She called down to him from the master bedroom on the third floor.

He ran up the next flight of stairs, entering their marital bedroom to find her standing in front of a gigantic, draped and canopied bed with four thick corner posts and balustrades at the sides, head, and foot of the bed in the same dark, heavily-ornamented wood. It’s drapes and canopy were of a densely-stitched satin brocade decorated on the edges in fine silk rope, with the bed-linens of the same fabric and embellishments—including a suffocating, heavy comforter and several long bolster pillows—heaped on the bed. Once again, furnishings that neither he nor Lizzie would ever want in their house.

He moved to stand beside her, and she gave him yet another envelope. “This one’s yours.”

“Will they _never_ stop?” He groaned, opening the envelope. “Let’s see, it says, ‘ _Dear Henry, this bed was picked out for you by the best antique furniture dealers in all of Belgravia, and bought for you by myself, as you deserve to have some lovely furniture in your new home. Sincerely, your mother. PS-I’ll start working with them again to find something to replace that gaudy thing Elizabeth put in your dining room_ ’.” He chuckled exasperatedly again. “Well, at least they’re consistent—forcing their tastes on us while hating what the _other_ forced upon us.”

He began to sit down on the bed, but she stopped him, holding out her hands the way a police officer would to a gunman threatening others. “Don’t sit.” She told him seriously. “I don’t want any damage done _to any of it_. First thing tomorrow, we’re calling them to take it all back.”

“Our _mothers_?” He raised a disbelievingly brow. “They won’t do it. Not without a fight.”

“No, _not_ without a fight. But they’ll do it if we tell them it’s all going to the charity shop if they don’t.” She rubbed her temples, sighing before taking a firm breath. “Are we overreacting, getting upset about this? Couldn’t this just be something nice that mothers do for their newly-married children?”

“ _Our_ mothers?” he restated, emphasizing the other word of the same question. “If we completely wiped out the first quarter-century or so of our lives, then sure, maybe we could see it that way. But if they’d repeatedly tried to force it on us, and we repeatedly told them _not to do it_? Then it’s just passive-aggressive and bitchy and—” he stopped his tirade and rubbed his temples as well. “—do you have any more Xanax?”

“I do.” She walked the small distance to him. “But let’s not take it, huh? I’ll go back downstairs to start our first fire in our new home’s fireplace,” she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his chin. “and then after that, I won’t be deterred until I’ve made you feel better than any pill you’ve _ever taken_.”

 

 

 

“ _Lizzie?!!!_ ”

“Yeah?” She called out as she stood in their new kitchen.

“ _You’re not at the foot of the stairs, are you?_ ”

“No. I’m done starting the fire, now I’m in the kitchen.” She rummaged around, looking through the drawers. “Why, do you need me to be there?”

“ _No!_ ” He called back down to her. “ _Stay right where you are!_ ”

She’d just finished her inventory, and they at least had pots and pans along with all their other cooking/eating wares. But Harry was right about no groceries—unless you count the homemade lemon cake and six-pack of beer left in the refrigerator by Maggie and Richie (who Lizzie was thrilled to find were _still_ spending time together).

That along with a pizza-joint flyer stuck to the fridge door by Cecily—with a note stating that some of her friends from the area said it was the best—meant that their night had been saved from being completely awful.

She heard something thud loudly against their front door and ran out of the kitchen to see a mattress laying at the foot of the stairs. She giggled. “Harry?”

He jogged down the stairs with a cloth bundle in his hands, a questioning brow lifted. “Sleeping on a mattress on the living room floor?”

She giggled again. “Sounds wonderful to me.”

She helped him move the mattress until it was in front of the fireplace. Then he threw the cloth bundle down on the mattress. “Had to dig around, but the sheets in your boxes seemed nicer than mine.”

“I can’t imagine.” She quirked her lip teasingly. “Weren’t your sheets the cotton-t-shirt sheets you got when you first went to university?”

“Hey,” he shot back flippantly as he opened her sheets up to air. “I’ll have you know they’re the cotton-t-shirt sheets I got while in _graduate school_.”

Her giggles continued as she walked back to the kitchen. She reemerged holding the beer, smiling at his happy face when he saw the bottles. “Courtesy of Richie.” She held up the flyer and took out her phone. “And this is supposedly the best pizza place in the neighborhood. Shall I ring them?”

He grinned back at her. “Sounds wonderful to me.”

 

 

 

She let out a long, low exhale as her toes uncurled and she released her grip on his hair. She stared up to their living room ceiling and felt him kiss his way back up her body, stopping to lick into the dips of her ribs and bite gently into her nipple. She chuckled admonishingly between deep, shaking moans. “ _Harry_.”

“What?” His head finally emerged completely from under the sheets, putting his forehead to her breastbone for a couple breaths before looking up and flashing a sly grin. “Am I torturing you?”

She smiled tenderly as she ran her fingers back through his hair. “I don’t mind your torture.”

He quirked a sweet brow before kissing under her jaw. “I’m sure you don’t. I don’t mind yours, either.” He moved off her to lay on his stomach beside her, with his arms crossed in front of him and biceps pillowing his chin as he looked ahead to their roaring fire.

She flipped over to mold her front to his back, running a teasing finger along his shoulder blades. “How are Heuy, Dewey and Louie?”

“Darker, I’m sure, from all the sun we got.” He smiled and sighed softly at the glow from the fireplace and the feel of her kissing her way down his spine. “Are you sure we ever need furniture?” He reached over to grab his beer bottle from the nearby floor. “Because this is pretty damn nice.”

“Yes, we need furniture.” She knelt up to nip his earlobe and giggled slightly when he reached behind himself to pull her back beside him. He made her lay on her stomach too, then she felt him stroking the small of her back. “But we’ll buy it together and it’ll _be ours_.”

“You can buy it for us.” He nodded, chuckling in return. “I trust your tastes are better than our mothers’, and I _know_ they’re better than mine.”

“Well,” she gave him a soft look as she turned her face to lay her cheek on her pillow. “I’d like it if we bought it _together_.”

“Yeah?” He stared back at her in excited happiness.

“Of course.” She leaned in to kiss his bicep. “We’re going to have whatever we put in here for a fair few years, I want you to like it, want you to be happy. It’s your home too, Harry.”

He tenderly took her jaw in his fingers to kiss her lips, brushing back her hair. He looked up and around the room in wonderment. “You may have been thinking of your old flat, but to me, this may be the first place I’ve lived that’s ever felt like home.”

She laid a quick peck onto the tip of his nose. “Well, I’m not thinking of my old flat _anymore_.”

 

 

 

 

It was late the next morning and Harry stood at their new stove with a pair of metal tongs in one hand and his phone in the other. He looked down to the bacon and eggs in the frypan and tried not to pick it up and knock himself over the head with it as he listened to his mother on the other end of the line.

“Mother, if you want to gift us with a few tokens, or decorative objects for the house every once and awhile, then that’s fine, that’s great, that’s appreciated.” He walked over to take two plates from the cupboard and laid them on the counter. “But to furnish virtually our _entire home for us_? It’s too much.”

“ _Henry, I’m happy to do it._ ”

He shot his eyes up to the ceiling in disbelief before rubbing them in frustration. “No, I don’t mean it like it’s too much for you to offer, as in you’re so generous. I mean it’s too much for us to take……as in the phrase, ‘ _We can’t take it anymore, and if you keep it up, Lizzie and I will go absolutely raving mad!_ ”

“ _Henry—_ ”

“Come get the furniture, or it’ll end up in the charity shop.” He interrupted firmly, forcing out a sweet voice. “Lizzie and I’ve just returned from buying our first groceries as a married couple and we’re fixing breakfast. Have a wonderful day, Mother!”

He heard Lizzie’s voice before he saw her come into the room, looking beyond delectable in his t-shirt and jeans ripped at the knees, her blonde hair piled onto her head in a messy bun. She had her phone to her ear and sounded like she was having virtually the same conversation with _her_ mother.

“Well, Mum, if you were worried about how much it cost, then you shouldn’t have bought it for us without us knowing if we even liked it.” She informed Elizabeth not-unkindly, but not-indulgingly either.

She walked over to the fridge and took out a large carton of orange juice, taking it to the small kitchen table that was one of the few items Margaret and Elizabeth had allowed to be where Henry and Lizzie said they’d wanted it.

She put her forehead in her palm. “No, I’m not going to suddenly like it once you tell me how much money it cost. Fine then, it cost eighty-thousand pounds, I still don’t like it.”

He saw her look into various cupboards before turning to him and mouthing ‘ _bread_ ’. He pointed on top of the refrigerator and then chuckled when she smacked her hand to her forehead and mouthed ‘ _duh_ ’. She took two slices out and placed them in the toaster.

“No, I’m not telling you I don’t like it just to spite you—it’s ugly. And my husband thinks so too. Now, don’t you think _that_ should be what determines if it goes into our home, rather than how much it costs?” Her free arm opened wide in exasperation.

She leaned back against the counter and made a two-finger gesture of shooting herself in the mouth, rolling her eyes as she talked to her mother. He chuckled again, moving the bacon and eggs off onto the two waiting plates.

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous to send back an eighty-thousand-pound dining set. I think it’s ridiculous to _buy_ an eighty-thousand-pound dining set.” Finally, she groaned and looked at the toast when it popped up as if it were saving her life. “Mother, Harry and I are sitting down to a late breakfast. Please have the furniture shop come get the dining room set, or it’ll be abandoned out on the curb.”

She hung up and smirked at him when he handed her a teacup. He brought the plates first over to her at the counter for the toast, then over to the table, placing them onto it.

She raised a pleasantly surprised brow as she looked down at the plate. “Is that turkey bacon?”

“Of course,” He nodded as he pulled out her chair. “don’t know how the hell anyone eats that stuff, but I wouldn’t try to feed you anything else.”

“Aww, thank you.”

He sat down beside her and smiled widely as he read the juice carton on the table. “Did you buy me pulp-free orange juice?”

“Just how you like it.” She grinned back at his happy face as he poured, adding teasingly. “And yes, all _twenty-thousand milliliters_ of it are just for you.”

He raised his juice glass. “It’s good to be home.”

She raised her teacup in return. “It’s good to be home.”

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Money, Sex, Work and Kids pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say most problems in marriages are from money, sex, work and kids. We'll see how our newlyweds handle all four.
> 
> Pt.1: Money and Sex

Their life at home wasn’t nearly as blissful as their honeymoon, but how many couples can say that it is? They were still happy, and still—always—felt tremendously grateful to have found each other. Even more so because they knew they didn’t really _find_ each other, they were _pushed together by their mothers_.

They found common ground in a few things, but the main thing in which they found common ground was their willingness and dedication to meet in the middle so that their numerous, _numerous_ differences didn’t congregate over their relationship and suffocate it.

Because they’d been right, their honeymoon had put them in a bubble. And that was what was needed, because it had let them learn a lot about each other right out the gate. It had shown them what they needed for their marriage to survive. They still wanted to be around each other more than anyone else, but even still—settling back into their life in London reinforced the idea they’d have to work hard to keep it that way.

Because what had they learned in the bubble? That they lived very different lives. That their similarities were fewer than their differences. And those differences were more pronounced now that they bubble was gone.

But what the bubble had shown them? That those differences did not outweigh their desire to be married, and that overlooking differing tastes and forgiving slight character flaws in the name of a happy union—would reward them in the end.

 

 

 

They had different ideas of what constituted a good time.

She was more socially outgoing than he was, fonder of nightlife and parties and passing from one circle of people to the next, light and airy as a welcome summer breeze. He preferred a quieter existence, staying in or going out with only a select group of very close friends.

The few times they’d gone together to one of the parties she’d so loved when he was single, he seemed out-of-place. Not _standoffish_ —Harry was polite and would do nothing to embarrass her—but pensive and uncomfortable. They left the party early. He’d said not one word about doing so, but she had already visited with all her acquaintances, and knew she’d have a better time at home with him than he’d have at the party for the rest of the night.

She was always welcome at the local pub with him, Richie, and Jack, and went as often as she could. She watched football with them there, even though she’d heard all she’d ever need to hear about the virtues of Cardiff City versus Oxford United, and spent most of the match looking through Instagram on her phone. She also let Harry teach her to play darts and was quite happy that they always came home a few quid richer whenever they faced off against Jack and Richie.

Her slight boredom at the pub lessened significantly when it became apparent that Maggie was now a fixture in Richie’s life and would be joining them regularly. Having another girl’s presence in the circle also meant that she and Harry could go out to eat with, and have dinners at home with, a fellow couple. Thus balancing her need for couple-y interaction with his aversion to spending time with strangers.

Experiencing each other’s contrasting social lives was also how they discovered that while she was friendlier with more people—got more invites and air kisses and phone calls—he had more _friends._ Real friends; Richie, Jack, Jasper (even though he was an uncle, but Harry didn’t suffer through him like Lizzie did hers, so she considered him more a friend)……..all his friends truly knew him and would do anything for him, and he would do the same. She could only say that with a few blood relatives; Cecily, Maggie, Anne.

 

 

Another issue they worked to balance was their material tastes.

Despite her career focusing on Classic Civilizations, she was open to new and foreign things; foods, music, art, books. Fond of Indian food, Arabic art, alternative and folk music, cyber-age spy novels, and a casual believer in some of the tenets of Eastern medicine like acupuncture and holistic remedies.

He called the local alternative health center a ‘ _quack shop’_ , read only the kind of books you’d find on the Queens’ College Literature and Social Sciences departments reading list, listened to Classical or Late 60’s-70’s British Rock music (Bach haunted her nightmares, and she had sympathy for the devil mainly because Mick Jagger wouldn’t stop singing about him), watched Doctor Who, and was a firm patron of either French or Traditional English Cuisine.

He surprised her on her birthday with tickets for Ladysmith Black Mambazo. And did an admirable job of refraining from rolling his eyes.

She couldn’t begin to count how many times they had roast dinner on Sundays. She even made Bubble and Squeak for him every Monday morning. Seriously. Eck.

 

 

And don’t even get them started about wine.

For someone who loved a pint while watching the match at the local pub as much as he did, he was such a total snob about wine. All French, mostly Bordeaux, always from a ‘ _good year’_ , and always over 94 points.

She was more a hipster wine geek—loved Italian, Spanish, South African, South American and Napa wines. If she’d ever had French, it was a Burgundy sent from her Aunt Margaret. She couldn’t care less if it was bottled fifty years ago, or last week.

He never drank from a screw top—she’d brought home a screw top wine once from the supermarket (one and only time she ever did _that_. all wine had to come _from the wine shop_ ) and he couldn’t think straight until that harbinger of evil was completely removed from their house.

Their first public argument was in the stemware section of Ikea. She thought the stemless wine glasses were kind of cool, while he swore they had no place in polite society, shook his head at her and walked away, leaving her alone in the aisle.

That night as an apology, he relented from his wine snobbishness slightly, and they drank a dry English white with the Saint-Melo flat oysters he’d cooked them for dinner.

She was food-sleepy soon after, and right before she dozed off with him holding her on the sofa, she swore that all their glasses would always have stems.

 

 

It wasn’t the last time they clashed on housewares, though.

They had different home décor preferences, and while she didn’t want him to be uncomfortable in his own home, she almost wished she’d never encouraged him to take an interest in furnishing the house.

She enjoyed warm and bright colors, casual overstuffed seating with lots of pillows and throw blankets, bushy or flowering plants, candles, and lots of sentimental artwork and photos on tables and walls.

He was minimalist, leaning more towards cool colors with clean, modern lines. The few photos he had of him and Jasper, or him with Jack and Richie, were kept in the office he’d made of their third bedroom.

They compromised. With cool beige and grey furniture, but overstuffed and with brightly colored accents. And the whole mantle above their fireplace was dedicated to only candid photos of them at their wedding, or pictures they’d taken themselves on their honeymoon.

 

 

She cared more about her physical appearances. He bought most of his clothes in multipacks.

How she presented herself to the world was important to her. She wasn’t vain or extravagant like her mother. Or overly prim and proper like Lady Margaret. But she liked beauty spas and wearing makeup, she liked fashion and she followed designers.

He’d worn the same corduroy jacket and scarf for ten years. The only times he’d ever worn patent shoes were his commencements and his wedding. He’d used hand soap to wash his face, she’d corrected that immediately upon her horror of discovering it.

She’d taken him shopping for clothes about a month into their marriage. He’d sulked and sighed so much in the store that she finally told him to go away—she knew all his sizes, she’d buy him whatever he needed, and he’d like whatever she gave him. Without a word of complaint. And he’d buy her flowers.

 

 

Money was an issue. Not lack of it, of course. But how easily and frequently it was used.

She’d grown up in a manor, with Lord Edward York telling her she was his little princess and giving her whatever she wanted. As she’d grown, and as she’d faced pain and loss, she saw it all for the slim veneer it was. But she had still grown up never worrying if she’d want for anything in her life.

His family home was just as grand, his combined family wealth was just as large, and in the long-term they spent just as much. But unless a situation called for opulence, Lady Margaret led her family very austerely. And Harry growing up in boarding schools had ingrained a very utilitarian sense in him. Things weren’t bought unless they were needed.

 

 

 

 

 

Their first big, _screaming_ fight was about money. Or shoes. Or boots. Depending on how you looked at it.

 

 

The designer’s shop had called to tell her that her boots were in while she’d been at work. Lilac-colored and hand-crafted snakeskin knee boots that she’d been on a waiting list forever to receive. She hadn’t been able to concentrate for the rest of the afternoon.

She’d been so excited she practically skipped out the shop and down the sidewalk with the box in her hand. She’d found a taxi—normally she always used the Tube for her normal commutes when in London—because she was guarding her purchase with her life, and it would be a hell of a lot easier for some thief in the Underground to take the box out of her hand than it would be once they were on her feet.

She got home before Harry, as she usually always did on Tuesdays and Thursdays. So, she had time to run upstairs and put them on, examining them in the floor-length mirror in their bedroom and smiling proudly (and she could admit at least a little vainly) at her appearance.

She felt ridiculously confident in them. They further elongated her already long legs, and their high heels made her back arch so that her backside seemed higher and rounder, and made her stand up straighter so her breasts were prominently displayed. She looked _good_.

The clock chimed 6:00pm, and she knew Harry would be walking through the door any moment. She changed into the mid-thigh length, spaghetti-strapped, emerald green dress that she knew he loved and went back downstairs into the dining room, turning on the light so he’d be sure to find her in there.

When he walked in the door, he called out for her, but she chose to remain coy. Finally, he poked his head in the room to discover her perched on edge of the dining table, leaning back on her palms with her high breasts peeking out her low-ish neckline and her legs crossed provocatively so that the hem of her dress hitched up high.

His grin spread, slow as cool honey when he saw her. “Well…….” he dropped his case and let his jacket fall to the floor, walking to her. “don’t you just look the most fetching thing on this side of the Atlantic.”

“Glad you think so,” she took the lapel of his dress shirt and pulled him close. “they’ve got me feeling a little _fetching_ —thought you might like to benefit from my bought-confidence.”

“Bought?” He placed his hands to the table on both sides of her, boxing her in his embrace and nuzzling her jaw. “What’d you buy?”

She took one of his hands off the table and ran it up her leg over the luxurious material of the boots. “They’re new. What do you think?”

His smoldering gaze tracked the path of his hand, but it hotly continued up her body even after the boots ended. “Any chance you could leave them on when we go to bed tonight?”

“I never really thought they’d be _literal_ ‘fuck-me boots’,” she laughed out loud, teasingly biting his upper lip. “but I guess for two-thousand pounds, they _should_ be multi-purpose.”

“Two-thousand pounds?” His head shot back in shock, eyes narrowing. “You’re putting me on.”

“No. They’re specially made, handcrafted, only hundred-fifty made per year.” She hitched a boot-clad leg around his hip, cradling the high heel against the small of his back. “Had to put myself on the list over nine months ago.”

“You paid two-thousand pounds for a fucking _pair of shoes_?!” He reached back and dislodged her leg, pulling back from her completely as his voice rose in angry disbelief. “Are you insane?”

“They’re _boots_.” She corrected evenly, not quite understanding his agitation. She shrugged. “And that’s how much they cost.”

He ran a hand through his hair and looked at her in a way she really didn’t like—as if she were _stupid_. “And you couldn’t have, I don’t know, found a two _-hundred-_ pound pair of boots?”

“Not hand-crafted purple snakeskin boots, no.” She rose off the table and shook her head, preparing to verbally defend herself. “Those cost two-thousand pounds. That’s how much they cost.”

“Will you _stop_ repeating _that_ as if it’s an explanation,” he cocked his head irritably. “or…or an excuse?!”

She crossed her arms in front of her in annoyance. “I wasn’t aware I _needed an excuse_ to spend _my_ money—”

“— _our_ money!” He interrupted with a shout.

“—on something I wanted!” She shouted back, finishing her thought.

“That’s just…….” he began to pace their dining room. “you really think there’s nothing _wrong_ with you spending that kind of money on shoes?”

“Boots!” She corrected him once again, yelling and ever more raging with each moment. “And there would be if I _did_ _it every week_ , but I only make a purchase like this a few times a year.”

“Well, that’s a few times too many.” He stalked out of the room, yelling back at her. “This is the vilest display of……and here I thought you believed _your mother’s_ extravagance to be ridiculous.”

She marched after him into the living room. “I _do_.”

He’d gone to their small bar cart and was pouring himself a scotch. “Just not _ridiculous enough_ to keep you from doing the same.”

“ _Why_ is this a problem?” She put her clenched fists on her hips. “I work hard, we no longer have rent, and not to mention—we’re not exactly on the dole. Nor will we _ever be_.”

“That’s not an excuse to do something _so_ _irresponsible_.” He emptied the contents of the tumbler in one gulp, then slammed it down on the cart. “Maybe something like this was fine for the daughter of Edward York and Elizabeth Woodville York, but it’s _not_ fine for the wife of Harry Tudor!”

“And since _when_ have I _only_ been Edward and Elizabeth York’s daughter, or Harry Tudor’s wife?!” The heels of her new boots tapped out a beat of indignation on the hardwood as she stood fuming before him. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, I’m my own damn person and I make my own damn choices.”

“Actually, you _don’t_ always make your own choices, now do you?” He turned to her fully, face screwed up in anger. “And you’d think after _you_ had to pay for your mother’s carelessness, you’d be more conscious _not to be the same way_.”

“And just what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” She sneered back at him.

“It means maybe if she’d been a little more sensible with money while the wife of Lord York, she would have had something of her own to fall back on, even with his family challenging the inheritance.” His eyes were full of disdain as he looked her over head-to-toe. “And then _you_ wouldn’t have had to been _sold off_ like a prize filly to keep her from going broke and your siblings out of council housing!”

She heard the slap sound into the deafening quiet before her brain even processed she would do it. Then felt the pain of it in her palm. She let out a sob. “You _Son of a Bitch!”_

He touched the red handprint she’d left on his cheek. It was the only color that remained as the rest of him paled instantly and his eyes went wide. Not in shock of the slap, but of the words that’d come before it. “Lizzie,” he took a contrite step forward, voice soft and careful again. “God, I didn’t mean……”

“That’s right.” She screamed at him as she stepped back further, even angrier now that she was helpless to stop the hot tears streaming down her face. “You’re the responsible one, you’re the one who did me _the big favor_ in marrying me, and I just brought absolutely _nothing_ to the union.” She harshly wiped the tears from her cheeks. “We’re not a true partnership, and I haven’t made your life even the tiniest bit better.”

“No, please, that’s not true.” He clenched his eyes shut in agony. Realizing what he’d said, realizing it went too far. “I shouldn’t have said what I—I didn’t…….”

She stomped to the front door. “By your sweeping generalization, I’m just the self-absorbed spoiled brat with no concept of the value of money.” She yanked her arms through her coat, viciously cinching its belt. “Well, in my specific example, you’re just the judgmental asshole who cut me right where my skin was thinnest and broke my heart over a pair of boots.”

She walked out on him, slamming the door shut behind her.

 

 

He’d thought of going after her. But something in the look she gave him before the door slammed, told him not to. Not to mention the whisky had gone to his head and the argument drained all energy out of him. He walked to the couch and sunk down to it, putting his elbows to his knees and cradling his head in his hands.

The night began to darken, and he grew worried when he’d not heard from her. She’d taken her purse and phone—or else _look be damned_ , he’d have gone after her—but she’d not answered any of his calls or texts.

He’d gotten his work case and brought it to the living room, spreading out his papers on the sofa, but he was too agitated to grade them. He’d fixed himself dinner but felt too anguished to eat it. Finally, he wearily climbed the stairs to their bedroom.

He’d been in bed for a half hour, his mind going over every horrible word of their fight as he laid in the dark, when he heard the front door open and close. He waited to see if she’d come to bed—and why shouldn’t she? he was the asshole who should be frozen out of bed—and breathed easier when she came into the room. She didn’t turn on the light as she began to undress with her back to him.

He began softly, without accusation. “Where did you go?”

“Ironically, I walked along High Street for a few hours.” She opened her drawers to pull out a sleepshirt, still turned away from him and continuing sarcastically, “No need to call the police and the divorce attorney, though. I didn’t buy anything.”

“Okay.” He sighed heavily, rubbing both hands over his face. “I deserve that.”

“Yes, you do.” She pulled back the covers and slipped into bed, as far from him as possible. She sighed heavily as well. “I know I’ve always been freer in reaping the benefits of my family’s wealth than you have with yours, but I’ve never been careless with it, Harry.”

“I know.” He folded his hands on his chest. “It did shock me, the cost. And I don’t really understand it.” He chewed on his lip regretfully. “But what happened tonight had less to do with you than it did with me. And it was my issue that I unfairly made yours.”

She turned her head to look at his profile, waiting for long moments. “Issues are better understood by others when you make the effort to explain them, Tudor.”

He took several deep breaths before speaking plainly, not expecting sympathy. “I resented my mother the moment she shipped me off to boarding school. And I grew up with the feeling that if I ever asked her for anything, it meant I was indebted to her. Well, that was just something my pride would never allow.” He stared pensively at the moonlight reflecting on the ceiling. “So, while the other kids at the academy started the year flush with cash and then could get more whenever the burned through it, I made do with as little as I could, so I wouldn’t have to go to her with my hand held out. That’s what taught me about money, and what probably led me to economics on the grander scale.”

Lizzie thought of Harry’s mother, and of her own. How it seemed nothing they offered or gave, came without a price. She never wanted her kids to go without, but she also never wanted her kids to think her caring for them was predicated on something in return. Except love.

Harry continued. “But then I guess I was always jealous of those kids at school who had everything because going to their parents didn’t hold the same weight for them that it did for me. And then jealous because I knew _everything_ those kids had…..included parents who provided for them in all manner of ways—not just material.” His voice broke slightly, the most vulnerability he’d ever shown her. “Ways that my cold mother never provided for me even _before_ she sent me off to school.”

Her hand hesitantly crawled over to stroke her pinky against his hip. He took the silent cue and reached down to take her hand, twining their fingers. She felt like she took the first decent breath since she’d slammed the front door behind her, hours before.

“In some ways, I don’t regret those feelings, because they made me more determined to prove I could make something of my life, all on my own.” He turned on his side, facing her and brushing a strand of hair off her shoulder. “But those feelings also chiseled into me a mentality to live a spartan life, and to think others who _didn’t_ were gluttonous and vain. That disapproval isolated me from a lot of people, and it made me cheap. Some would even say miserly.”

She felt a strong necessity to share a deep and troubled secret with him, like he’d done for her. She blew out a long breath.

“My mum and dad, they would buy me things before I even had the chance to ask them for it.” She rolled her eyes at herself. “I know. _Ah, poor Lizzie_. But it was because it always meant more to them that I have it—and be seen having it—than it ever did to me.” She finally turned too, both now face to face. “The examples of wealth my family had, they never bothered me. But the lengths we had to go to get them, and to keep them? That bothered me very much.”

“Lizzie, not spending exorbitantly—it’s still important to me.” He tangled a hand in her hair, thumb brushing over her temple. “But not more important than you. Nothing’s more important than you. Not anymore.”

She circled her fingers around his wrist, brushing along his pulse point. “I would never spend money we didn’t have or spend in a way that would threaten our financial future. I know it was an extravagant purchase, but I’m not an extravagant person.” Her chest expanded as she took a fortifying breath. “That being said, if I want something, and know we can afford it—I’m not going to stop myself from buying it just because you might disapprove.” She closed her eyes. “You have to trust that I’m not a reckless person.”

“I will. I do.” His fingers moved down to brush over her top lip. “Lizzie—"

She opened her eyes again. “You hurt me. What you said, it hurt.”

“I know. I’m a stupid bastard.” He drew himself closer to her, pressing his forehead to hers. “And from now on, I’ll remind myself that even when I’m mad at you, I’m not a child anymore. I’m a man, a husband—and I can’t just say the most hurtful thing I can think of.” He brushed lazy lips against hers before pulling back to stare directly in her eyes. “Not to you. Not to my wife. I’ll have to remind myself how it felt to watch the front door slam with you on the other side.”

She smiled tenderly and turned on her back again, reaching out to switch on the beside lamp and grab the book resting next to it on the table. “‘ _It was a dark and stormy night.’”_ She switched the book to her other hand when he burrowed into her side and laid his head on her chest _,_ listening with a soft smile _. “‘In her attic bedroom Margaret Murray, wrapped in an old patchwork quilt, sat at the foot of her bed and watched the trees tossing in the frenzied lashing of the wind_ ’”

 

 

 

 

 

The first long-held secret between them was revealed as most are—by accident. She could kick herself, really. So careless in allowing the secret to come out. So dumb to keep it in the first place. But sex could bring out insecurities in even the most confident people. And confident was not a term Lizzie applied to herself liberally.

 

 

It was their six-month anniversary, and she’d been planning a getaway for weeks. They’d both been working harder than usual the last month, and the little pieces of time they spent together were hard-carved out of their busy schedules.

But this would be a whole weekend away, to a surprise-destination of a seaside cottage on the Isle of Wight, with no tablets or laptops and both swearing they’d use their phones only minimally. It would truly be just the two of them.

Lizzie had taken Friday afternoon off work to come home and get their bags together, and Harry would be coming home within the hour. She was in their bedroom packing while on speakerphone with Cecily.

“You’ll have to be sure to thank John for us.” Lizzie moved to the closet and took down the two overnight bags from the top shelves.

“ _You’ve thanked John plenty already, but if it ever comes up, I’ll be sure to tell him again._ ” Cecily reiterated good-naturedly from over the line. “ _Oh, and we left you two an anniversary gift at the cottage._ ”

“What?” Lizzie threw the bags down on the bed. “Nobody gives six-month anniversary presents, not even Harry and I’ve done that.”

“ _It’s just a good bottle of English Cassis, no biggie._ ”

“So, the caretaker in Sandown knows we’re coming?” Lizzie was in and out of their bathroom as she packed their toiletries.

“ _Yes,_ ” Cecily confirmed. “ _John’s told her your name and when you’ll be arriving. Her name’s Mrs. Coaker, just in case you need it_.”

“But she’s not going to hang around, is she?” Lizzie asked tentatively, hoping for the negative.

Cecily chuckled knowingly. “ _No, she knows it’s a romantic weekend away for you two. So, she’ll just leave a number for whenever you need anything. The weekend I spent there with John, I barely laid eyes on the woman—and thank God. She would have walked in on quite the naked scene…….for most of the weekend, in fact_.”

“I didn’t really need to know that, sis.” Lizzie sighed in faux-exasperation. “I think you just like bragging about your sex life.”

“ _Speaking of which, the cottage is rather far away from any attractions_.” Cecily informed her seriously. “ _What will the two of you be doing all weekend_?”

“What do you mean?” Lizzie furrowed her brow, not understanding. “We’re going away to be alone together.”

“ _And do what_?” Cecily let out a short laugh. “ _I’m sorry, I guess I’m just not understanding the point of the trip, since all John and I did was fuck 24/7 when we were there._ ”

“Well—not that I particularly want to share this with you—but I imagine that will be a big part of our experience there as well.” Lizzie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe not 24/7….”

“ _You just seem so excited about it, is all_.” Cecily answered in a way that made Lizzie picture her simultaneously shrugging. “ _I don’t know, if it were me, and after six months I still wasn’t feeling anything, I’d be a little disillusioned with the whole concept of having sex_.”

“Well, that’s you.” Lizzie crossed her arms over her chest in a useless gesture, since Cecily couldn’t see her displeasure. “And Harry means a whole lot more to me than just someone I have orgasms with—”

“— _or rather, don’t_.” Cecily interrupted, mumbling under her breath before beginning stronger. “ _But hey, don’t get mad. I’m sorry what I said came off as disparaging_.”

“Not to mention, it’s a drastic over-simplification of our sex life to say I’m not feeling anything. I feel plenty.” Lizzie kept on, needlessly defending her relationship.

“ _Why_?” Cecily scoffed mirthfully. “ _Because he can make you come when he goes down on you? Any man who’s not a bumbling idiot down there can make a woman come that way_.”

“That’s not true!” Lizzie got some clothes out of their drawers and blew out a harsh breath. “You know there’s a whole lot more to coming for some women than just…..you know…….”

“ _Oh my God, is this still why you haven’t told him_?” Cecily admonished teasingly. “ _Because despite you being twenty-five years old and the two of you being married for a half-year, you still can’t have a frank conversation about sex with breaking off into ellipses and blushing like an adolescent_?”

Lizzie pursed her lips. “I’m not blushing—”

“ _Oh, you are definitely blushing. I can practically hear it through the phone_.” Cecily chuckled loudly. “ _Maybe if you and Harry sat down like adults and talked about how he’s never made you come when he’s inside you, the two of you could actually work together to get that fixed_.”

“No,” Lizzie frowned as she zipped up a bag. “I don’t want him to think th—”

A new voice suddenly spoke up from the doorway. “Lizzie?”

Lizzie nearly bolted back from the edge of the bed when she saw her husband at their open bedroom door with his scarf still in his hands. “Harry!!!!”

“ _Oh fuck, is that Harry_?” Cecily asked over the line in instant fear, even from her location two hours away. “ _In the room with you_?”

Lizzie looked over to her phone on her dresser. “Uh-huh.”

“ _How much did he hear_?” Cecily asked in morbid curiosity.

“I don’t know.” Lizzie brought her hand to her chest.

“ _What do you **mean** , you don’t know_?” Cecily inquired with vocal disbelief. “ _Just look at his face. That should tell you how m—_ ”

“He knows _enough_.” Lizzie shouted from across the room, then stomping over to her phone. “Not to mention we’ve continued talking about him like he’s not in the room, while he _very much is_.”

Cecily sucked in a vocal breath. “ _Okay, here’s what you need to do_ —”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, grumbling out, “Goodbye, Cecily.”

Lizzie brought the phone to her ear. “Yeah, I’m probably not calling you back.” She hit the red button before moving to stand at the foot of their bed.

“You and Cecily,” Harry fully came into the room, numbly as he tried to wrap his brain around what had happened. “what the two of you were talking about……that’s not an old comedy routine or some weird skit you guys are practicing, is it?”

“What? _Skit_?” Lizzie repeats weirdly, swallowing harshly. “No, it’s not.”

“So, then that’s true?” He asked as if all his energy had suddenly been drained. “I’ve _never_ made you come while we’re having sex?”

“Um,” Lizzie chewed on her lip anxiously. “that’s not……not with traditional……traditionally.”

He came to stand before her, carefully going over the new information. “And you talk to Cecily about it?”

“Yes.” She admitted, looked down in shame. “She’s my sister.”

“But not to me?” He pointed to himself, irritation growing by the moment. “I’m your _husband_.”

“It’s easier for me to talk to her about things.” Lizzie cradled her forehead in her palm. “I’ve known her about twenty-three years longer than I’ve known you.”

“And yet,” Harry took a deep breath, letting Lizzie know he might be close to shouting. “Cecily is not the third person in our two-person marriage, Lizzie!”

“I know that,” Lizzie groaned tremulously, clenching her eyes shut. “I’m sorry….I don’t know what to say.”

Harry took another deep breath, this time to calm himself down, and began evenly, “The two of you…..do you….do you _laugh about_ —”

“No, Harry!” Lizzie’s eyes shot open again, looking straight into his. “God, no. We don’t laugh about it, and we don’t talk about it with other people.” She pointed back to the phone of the dresser. “And Cecily just laughs about everything because sometimes her cavalier attitude is only way to get me speaking more openly.” She wrung her hands together. “Since I usually don’t speak openly about it at all.”

“And you’ve been….um, what’s the polite word? Faking it?” He chuckled without humor. “Every moan, every gasp, every heavy breath….”

“No, that is _absolutely not true_!!!” She shouted defensively, reaching out to touch his forearms. “97% of the moans, gasps, and heavy breaths are totally genuine!”

He lightly brushed off her grasp, not trying to be cruel. “Well, that’s still a pretty _big_ 3%, Lizzie!”

“But that 3% isn’t big enough to hang our entire sex life on, Harry!!!” She caught his disbelieving eyes, showing him with hers that she was being honest. “I just didn’t want you to think it wasn’t good between us.”

“So, you _pretend_ it’s good between us?” He shook his head, instantly weary. “That doesn’t make it so, Lizzie. In fact, that makes it further and further from being so.”

“I know, I know.” Her lip trembled, and she hugged herself around the middle. “But what we have, it _is good_. It’s enough, it’s more than enough, at least until it can be more.”

He sighed deeply, their eyes never wavering from each other. “And if it’s _never_ more?”

“Then it’s still enough—more than I’ve ever had.” She touched his chest, palm over his heart. “And it’s what I would never trade, Harry. Not ever.”

He walked over to their bed and sunk down heavily. “It……it seems as though you….. _do,”_ He groaned in discomfort that they were having this conversation. “when……when I put my mouth on you.”

“Well, yes, I do. Truly.” Lizzie nodded, giving a long pause. “But that’s not …..unusual. It’s much easier for a woman to…….” she moved her hand around in a ‘ _come on, understand_ ’ gesture.

He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Lizzie, it might be better to come to terms with this if we both let go of our embarrassment and just speak freely. Without so many pauses and floundering for _appropriate_ words.”

“Okay, then.” She stood up straighter and clasped both hands in front of her. “It’s easier for a woman to come with oral sex—due to the right kind of touches in the right kind of places.”

“Have _you_ always?”

“With you?” She waited for him to nod before answering. “Absolutely.” She was then loathe to amend it. “ _After_ our first five days.”

“Our first five—?” His eyes widened in disbelief. “Not ‘til _Greece_ , you mean? I went down on you about _ten times_ on the ship!”

“And I loved every minute of all ten!” She nearly screamed, sitting down beside him. “It’s just, it was very new between us then, and I had so many things to adjust to, and I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for it to happen. But then our first night in Greece—it happened.” She gave him a soft smile. “Because I trusted you, and felt a connection with you, and finally allowed myself to share that with you. And it continued to happen every time. And got better each time.”

“And did that happen with other men you’ve been with?” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “When, even with their mouths, there was something holding you back?”

“There have only ever been two others, Harry.” She defended with a lowered chin. “A few times, it didn’t happen, when I was distracted, or stressed.” She rolled her eyes and then groaned in disbelief that she was about to tell him the next part. “Cecily has been with a few more men than me and she says it always happens with oral unless the man is completely bumbling down there.” She shrugged, holding out her hands. “I, however, know that’s being unfair. Women aren’t only about manual stimulation. There is often a laundry list of things required before we can come.”

He blinked several times. “And I’m _not_ completely bumbling?”

“No, Harry,” She smiled knowingly, pressing her forehead to his shoulder. “you’re definitely not.”

He laid a gentle hand on her knee. “Have you _ever_ come with a man inside you?”

She was torn between potentially hurting his feelings by telling the truth—or lying to him again. However, she already felt as though she’d been dishonest with him by faking her orgasms, and didn’t wish to continue with it. So, the truth won out.

She looked to the floor. “Yes.”

Harry’s whole body deflated and hunched over slightly. “But not with me.”

“No.” She pulled his upper body back up with a grip on his shoulder and began firmly. “You know, it’s strange—and please know that I have _no_ experience with this—but I really feel if we’d hooked up at a bar and I brought you home for a one-night stand, that I’d be hoarse from screaming your name and passing out in ecstasy.” She ran her knuckles along his thigh in a caring, nudging way. “Because since we’ve been intimate, there is seriously not one thing about you that I don’t find appealing.”

Harry nodded in understanding. “But we’re _not_ a one-night stand.”

“No, we’re not.” She shook her head, skin around her eyes crinkling with affection. “We’ve got a lot riding on this, because at least with the way I feel about it, I’m pretty sure _you and I_ ………are for the rest of our lives.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You’re not alone on that.”

Lizzie exhaled long and low, rubbing her forehead. “It’s just a lot of pressure. I feel like it’s holding me back.”

“But, you initiate this, us having sex—traditional sex, I mean—quite a lot.” He used the arm around her shoulder to turn until she looked him square in the eye. “And you’re not _getting_ anything out of it.” The last was said as a statement, not a question. “Are you just doing that for me? Because, I’m not sure I want you to do—”

“No, Harry, I’m not.” She told him forcefully. “I mean, I like making you happy, but _you’re_ the only one in our relationship who’s ever said I’m not getting anything out of it.” She pushed his arm off her in slight offense. “I mean, is the only reason you have sex with me a…..a headlong sprint into an orgasm?”

“No! Of course not!” He responded defensively, before calming and smiling wistfully. “I like a lot of things about having sex with you besides that. But, _that_ …… _is happening_ for me.” He let out a loud breath, tenderly taking her hand in his. “So, I guess I’m feeling a little insecure.”

Smiled back at him with the same tenderness. “Would you like me to tell you some of the things I like?”

He chuckled ruefully. “Would you think me too much of a needy caveman if I did?”

“No.” She grinned, then nodded to their still-joined hands. “I like _this_. Sometimes, even when we’re right in the middle and we’re both all worked up, you reach for my hand.” She lifted her other hand to brush a lock of hair back from his forehead. “And other times, you’ll run your fingers through my hair. I also like the silky feel of _your_ hair under my fingertips when I slide them against your scalp.” She bit her lip. “I like kissing you.”

He quirked a teasing brow. “We’ve gotten quite good at that, haven’t we?”

“Yes, we have.” She laughed happily, laying a hand on his forearm. “I like the way you hook your fingers into the back of my knee when I hug your waist with my thighs. I like the weight of you on top of me, it makes me feel safe. I like running my hands along your chest when _I’m_ on top of _you_ , it makes me fell powerful. I also like that you seem to _enjoy_ me on top—that doesn’t happen with some guys.”

“With a view like Lizzie York on top of them?” He laughed incredulously, shaking his head. “Ah, some guys are idiots.”

“I like how you whisper into my neck that I’m beautiful. I like the stubble that’s on your jaw at night, the scrape of it against my skin. I like the feel of your lips on my breasts.” She felt her face get hot but soldiered on with her next thought. “I like the way you lean over close to me, brushing aside my hair to place kisses between my shoulder blades, when you’re, um…… _behind_ me.” She ducked her head shyly and listened to him clear his throat loudly. “I like the way your fingers hold onto my hips no matter what position we’re in. They always tend to leave light bruises the next day.”

His eyes widened in horror. “Oh god, I didn’t—"

“No, it’s not—I like it. A lot.” She chuckled lowly, tucking her hair back behind her ear. “I like the sound you make when I scratch my fingernails along your back—it’s why I do it so often.”

He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Jack and Richie _both_ made comments about some marks you’d left when I changed shirts on the football pitch the other day.”

Her smile started as proudly guilty, then changed to hot as she licked her lips. “I like the way you feel inside me. I feel full, connected.” Her soft, fond eyes fluttered shut in memory. “I like falling asleep wrapped up in you.”

“I like that too.” He told her breathily, leaning in to brush his lips against hers.

“I like how, the next morning everything is in sync between us.” She ran her tongue along the seam of his lips before slipping it inside. He looked as completely dazed as she felt when they pulled apart. “That’s completely honest, Harry.”

“I don’t want us to hurt each other by saying things we don’t mean and don’t feel.” He touched his forehead to hers. “But I also don’t want our marriage to hurt because we hide things that might offend. If it’ll make us stronger, I don’t want us to hold back because of potentially wounded pride.”

She gave him a small, sad smile. “I’d thought it would be my pride that was wounded when I told you, Harry.”

“ _Your_ pride?” He repeated in surprise. “Whatever for?”

“Because I failed.” She looked down to her lap. “You’re so wonderful, and as a wife, I failed you.”

“You most certainly _did not_.” He lifted her chin up again, continuing firmly. “Strangely, our problems have been about us failing ourselves more than the other person.” He gave her a hesitant grin. “Let’s just…try to cut ourselves some slack, okay?”

 

 

 

Despite their détente after speaking in their bedroom, their communication during the trip down to the cottage was tentative at best. They touched and held hands in the taxi to Victoria Station, but for the train journey to Portsmouth Terminal and ferry ride to Sandown—where they weren’t forced to sit pressed side by side—she could feel a wall going up between them.

The caretaker’s husband, Mr. Coaker, met them at the ferry terminal and the entire ride to the cottage, Harry seemed intent to carry on an in-depth discussion with him about the history of the entire Isle, the times of the tides, and the man’s specific life story.

Upon arrival and the departure of Mr. Coaker, they found cottage to be warm and inviting, with a fire already going and a refrigerator full of food. The gin left by John and Cecily was waiting on the coffee table with a bow, and Lizzie felt an intense desire to dive into it and escape the awkwardness she felt between them. However, she knew that wasn’t the answer to their problem.

He saw the bottle about three seconds after she did, and apparently felt the opposite. “This is for us.” He grabbed the bottle and began to walk into the kitchen. “Good, I could use a drink.”

She held out her arm and put her hand on his chest to halt him. “Let’s eat first, yeah?” She took the bottle from him and joined their hands instead. She walked them to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, looking at its contents. “Ah, we can make Bangers and Mash!”

“Lizzie,” He began cautiously, rubbing his eyes. “you hate Bangers and Mash, and Toad in the Hole, and Yorkshire Pudding and any other number of English food that we both know you’d only suggest because you think you’re in some sort of doghouse with me.”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “And you’re really trying to tell me that I’m _not_?”

“Of _course_ you’re not.” He shook his head.

“And so,” she shut the refrigerator, crossing her arms. “punishing me wasn’t the reason why you’ve only spoken five words to me since leaving London?”

He let out a long, low breath. “I just needed to think.” He walked to the wall and leaned back against it. “And I know why you weren’t completely honest with me about our sex life, and it’s not really something I can fault you for.”

“Well, why do you think I wasn’t completely honest?” She ran a nervous hand through her hair. “’Cause really, _I’m_ not even completely sure. I mean, if you were a superficial, needy jerk, maybe I would’ve felt compelled to do so, but you’re not, so……..”

“Well, for starters,” he began carefully, nodding. “I think we _both_ felt compelled to make it seem like everything was great between us.”

She nearly stomped her feet, arguing. “Things _have_ been great between us!”

“Darling, I agree.” He held up soothing hands and walked to her, rubbing her upper arms. “But I think we’ve been clinging to the idea ever since we woke up that first morning on the ship and both wanted to have sex, that as long as we did _that_ well, it meant……all our problems solved forever.” He encompassed her in his arms when she leaned in to wrap her arms around his waist. “And that’s just not remotely realistic.”

She buried her cheek into his chest. “Harry, I’m…..” she began to cry, wetting his t-shirt. “I’m so sorry. I was so scared to ruin it all by telling you something that really didn’t matter all that much to me. And so instead, I hid it from you and ended up ruining it anyway.”

“Shh. Nothing’s ruined, nothing’s even slightly ruined.” He put his chin on top her head, breathing in the comforting lavender scent of her hair. “Lizzie, I swear it.”

She stayed pressed against him for several silent moments before pulling back, her eyes clear and staring into his sweetly. “Your heart beats so strong.”

He gently ran the pad of his thumb along her eyebrow and took a trembling breath. “Only around you.”

 

 

They burst through the door of the cottage’s upstairs bedroom with her legs wrapped around his waist and his arms holding her to him underneath her ass. It had been a particularly difficult journey up the narrow stairs with sloped and low-hanging ceilings, since their mouths were quite occupied and they didn’t really pay attention to anything but the feel of each other, both bumping heads and shoulders against hard surfaces but neither caring as long as they didn’t break apart.

And by the time he threw her on the bed and crawled onto it after her, they were both divested of all clothes except bottoms and shoes. He kissed her thoroughly then reluctantly stood back up to quickly unbuckle his belt and drop his trousers, gazing at her hotly while she toed off her espadrilles and shimmed her knickers and skirt down her legs, making a big show to drop all items onto the floor before she crooked her finger at him, silently bidding him to come back on top of her.

He ran tender, questing fingers up her calves to take both thighs in his hands. Spreading her legs, his head descended between them and she let out a wrecked moan when his glorious mouth began moving over her heated flesh. He was gentle, yet determined—a dichotomy she’d come to learn defined Harry perfectly—and within minutes she was coming, back arching and groaning out his name hoarsely as her fingers carded through his hair.

And yet, he still didn’t let up even after her chest stopped heaving, bringing her to another, slightly softer but still complete release. He brushed his lips along the crease of her hip lazily as she shuddered, then began to start over for a third time.

She pushed his head away with shaking hands. “I can’t, I can’t…. another. No more.” She began pulling him up by his shoulders. “Just you.”

He went where she wanted him, but stopped short of pressing himself to her, instead dropping his head to her collarbone. “We can….” His lungs blew out heavy breaths against the underside of her jaw. “We can stop here.”

Her eyes—which had been closed in recovering bliss—shot open at the statement. “What? _No_.” She sat up, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing and biting his lips before running her shin along his hard member still in his boxer shorts. “Nun-uh. That’s not really what you want.”

He reached around his neck, pulling her hand free to brush a kiss to her inner wrist. “But I care about what you want, too, Lizzie.”

"Good." She hooked her leg around his hips and tenaciously pulled him down, pressed on top of her. “I want you inside me.”

His eyes shut, trying to fortify himself. “Lizzie…….”

“Did you not feel my pulse when you kissed the inside of my wrist? Do you not feel my heart practically beating through my chest beneath yours right now?” She huffed loudly in agitation, hot breath against his cheek. “Harry, what the hell? You said you weren’t trying to punish me.”

He shook his head resolutely. “I’m _not_.”

“Well, us stopping right now? That would be punishing me.” She sweetly ran her soft palm down the side of his face, staring deep in his eyes. “Harry, I promise I’ll not exaggerate or pretend to have any emotion I do not feel.” She leaned in to lay several small kisses at the corner of his mouth. “But I want what I _do always feel_. I want my husband inside me—as often as you want to be there.”

He smiled widely and exhaled in relief. “Truly?”

“Truly. I swear it.” She smirked slyly and winked devilishly. “Now, we both brought scarves…..I’ll tie you down to the bed and climb all over you, if that’s what it takes.”

He grabbed her jaw and kissed her both long and longingly. “Not necessary right now.” He knelt up to pull off his boxers, throwing them to the other side of the room. “But we do have a couple days ahead of us, so it’d be fine by me if that happened to come up.”


	9. Money, Sex, Work and Kids pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say most problems in marriages are from money, sex, work and kids. We'll see how our newlyweds handle all four.
> 
> Pt.2: Work and Kids

It was late afternoon, and Harry was sitting in his small office at the London School of Economics when his cellphone began to ring. He smiled widely at the caller ID and happily answered the call.

“If you’re calling to try and get out of dinner with my mother at Le Gavroche tonight,” he began teasingly. “you’re going to have a very pouty husband.”

The line was silent for a moment. “ _Harry, something’s happened_.”

His heart instantly seized up, mind going through a list of things that could’ve gone wrong, voice shaking as he asked, “Are you okay?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Lizzie exhaled airily, instantly apologetic. “ _I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you………it’s actually a good thing_.”

“Oh,” he breathed a sigh of relief, letting his head drop down to his desk for a moment. “well, what is it?”

“ _I was called into Director McCalleigh’s office today, and Doctor Morton was there as well_. _They’ve been going over my status……._.” she laughed fully and happily, in a way Harry would strive to make her laugh more often. _“….and the committee at UCL has accepted my dissertation. I’m getting my doctorate_.”

Harry sat up in his chair, mouth open in surprise before chuckling joyously. “You’re brilliant. You are completely, utterly, fucking brilliant— _Doctor_ York.”

“ _Harry, I’m so happy_.” She nearly squealed in excitement. “ _You’re the first person I called_.”

“Well, go call everyone else.” He demanded proudly. “I want everyone to know what a brilliant wife I have, and how I’m the luckiest bastard alive.”

“ _I will_.” She let out a sweet sigh, as if all the pressure from seven years had suddenly lifted off her chest. “ _I’ll call everyone_.”

He looked at the clock on his wall. “I’ll cancel tonight with Mother.”

“ _No, don’t do that_.”

“Lizzie, you hate French food and you can barely stand my mother.” He stated firmly, letting her know he wouldn’t mind. “you shouldn’t have to deal with either on a night like this—you should celebrate.”

“ _Canceling with your mother will just cause more problems in the long run, and we had to wait two weeks for those reservations.”_ She exhaled loudly, fortifying herself even though it was her idea to still go to dinner. _“Besides, even your mother couldn’t possibly find fault in something like me earning a PhD_.”

He let out a rueful snort. “Whatever you say.”

“ _It’ll be fine.”_ She admonished, a playful edge to her voice _. “We can still celebrate later on, both with our friends……and then with just the two of us_.”

 

 

 

 

“To Lizzie York,” Harry raised his glass of champagne. “the best thing to ever come out of University College London!”

“Yes!” Margaret added from the third chair at their window table. “Cheers!”

“Harry, I’m not the best thing to come out of UCL.” Lizzie’s grin split her face and she winked devilishly. “Gandhi was an alumnus after all……so I guess that means I’d be _second_ best thing.” She nearly doubled over with laughter.

“What a tremendous achievement,” Margaret reached over to cover Lizzie’s hand with her own. “and something you can be proud of for the rest of your life.”

“Thank you, Margaret.” Lizzie smiled genuinely before exhaling with a little anxiety. “Well, I meet with the Board of Directors tomorrow to talk about next steps.”

“Next steps?” Margaret sat up straighter and immediately put down the champagne glass she’d just brought to her lips before she could take a sip.

“Yes, advancement within the departments.” Lizzie beamed over at Harry who smiled back the same. “Now that I’m no longer a student, it’s my understanding there are a few possibilities, but I don’t exactly know what they are.”

Margaret quirked a brow like the Wicked Witch of the West and her voice dripped with contempt. “So, it’s your intention to continue with this……. _museum thing_?”

“Mother.” Harry spoke up warningly. “Lizzie worked hard for this. And a career is a perfectly acceptable life choi—”

“Henry, a PhD is something that will always be attached to her resume.” Margaret interrupted with a scolding voice. “Whether she’s up for the position now, or years from now.”

Both of Lizzie’s brows raised, crossly repeating, “ _Years_ from now?”

“I don’t think anyone could fault you for taking some years off.” Margaret gave Lizzie a condescending glance as she took a bite of her lobster mousse and caviar hors d’oeuvre. “Isn’t the point of getting the degree….. _having the degree_?”

Lizzie was growing more incensed by the moment, and it could be heard in her voice. “The point of getting the degree is having the degree so that I can then have the career I’ve always wanted.”

“And once you have this wonderful _career_ , how easy do you think it will be to have children?” Margaret snapped back. “And if you manage to carve out a small slice of your life to birth them, who will raise them when you go back to your _career_ which you’re clearly stating is more important to you than they are?” She shook her head derisively. “Any woman who allows a nanny to raise her children so that she can work, when she doesn’t even _need_ to work……is just the epitome of selfishness.”

“ _Mother_.” Harry took a large gulp of champagne.

“What? Her doctorate will be waiting for her even years from now.” Margaery sneered out through clenched teeth, folding her hands in her lap. “She, of course, could still be allowed to resume a career once the children are grown.”

“I could still be _allowed_?” Lizzie indignantly dropped her spoon into her duck consommé. “Well, thank you so much for allowing even _that_ , Lady Margaret.”

“Okay.” Harry held up his hands in a placating manner. “Can we all _just_ —”

“No, she’s dictating my entire life, Harry.” Lizzie angrily threw her napkin on the table. “I meet with the Directors _tomorrow_ , while she’s talking about children that _don’t even exist_.” She cocked her head to the side. “Which should be forefront in my mind?”

Margaret looked to Harry, ignoring that Lizzie was even in the restaurant. “Every woman belonging to a Great Noble House has the duty to extend the line with heirs, Henry. And to add to the happiness of her family with children.” She glared at Lizzie in disdain. “ _That_ is more important than any _job_ she might have.”

“Okay, you were right, Harry.” Lizzie slumped back in her chair in exhaustion and rubbed her temples. “We should have canceled. Your mother, of course, can ruin _anything_.”

 

 

 

 

“Your mother was insufferable.” Lizzie threw her keys down on the entry table the moment they came through the front door and yanked off her coat. “Leave it to her to ruin a perfectly lovely evening when we’re supposed to be celebrating something I’ve spent a third of my life working toward.”

“Hey, you know what she’s like,” Harry put his coat on the rack and picked hers up off the floor to do the same. “if you let her ruin your evening, it’s not _only_ ruined because of her.”

“Harry, what _the hell_?!” She turned to him, red-faced and fuming. “You say something like _that_ now, and then you barely come to my defense at dinner when she dictated that I had to give up my career to breed your heirs.”

“Don’t be so dramatic!” He shook his head, voice raised. “I came to your defense.”

“How?” She shot back sarcastically as she sunk down to the sofa. “Because you said _‘Mother’_ in a slightly warning tone?” Her narrowed eyes showed her disbelief. “ _Please_.”

He moved to stand still in front of the fireplace, face emotionless for many seconds before he spoke. “Maybe that was all I said because that was all I _could say_.”

“All you could say?” Lizzie crossed her arms over her chest. “How about, ‘ _that’s none of your business’_ or ‘ _Lizzie and I will decide about children when we’re ready’_.”

He crossed his arms in a mirror of hers. “Except I didn’t know to say that because we’ve not talked about children…… _at all_.”

“We’ve not even had our first anniversary,” she threw up her hands in exasperation. “and I was finishing school.”

“Well, school is finished now, and our anniversary’s next month.” Harry began pacing a path on the opposite side of the room. “So maybe my mother was thinking our time was up.”

Lizzie put her feet up on the coffee table and pouted. “Then she’s absurd.”

“She _is_ absurd.” Harry agreed, stopping right in her line of sight. “But why _aren’t we_ talking about it?” He paused for a long moment, getting up the nerve to ask the question. “Do you _want_ children?”

She sat up straight and put her hands in her lap, determinedly looking straight at him. “Yes.”

He lifted a brow. “ _My_ children?”

“That’s usually the way it happens, Harry.” She answered, looking off to the side. “A wife has her husband’s children.”

“Are _you_ —are you getting _sarcastic with me_?” He strode to where he stood right before her and looked down at her face with anger clouding his eyes. “Now is _really_ not the time.” He pointed to his own heart. “You know me, you’ve lived with me, you wanna share a life with me. Does that life include having and raising children that are half _mine_?”

“Yes!” She stood instantly, nearly face to face with him. “Yes, of course.” Her gaze dropped down to her folded hands for a split second. “But—”

“ _But_?” He repeated, interrupting her thought in his frustration. He rubbed the back of his neck. “If you say ‘ _yes_ ’ and then follow it with ‘ _but_ ’—you don’t _really_ mean yes.”

“Well, I _do_.” She moved away from him, feeling slightly claustrophobic under his intense gaze, and walked behind the sofa, pointing towards the stairs. “I walk by that little bedroom on the second floor every morning as I go downstairs, do you think I don’t imagine that it’d be perfect as a nursery?!”

“Then what’s the problem with the two of us at least _talking_ about it?” He shouted, hands thrown up in the air.

Her head cocked to the side. “Do you realize that a year ago, this— _all of this_ —wasn’t even a blip on my radar?” She put a hand on her hip and jutted it out. “You do get that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do!” He snapped back at her.

“No, you _don’t_. It’s _different for men_.” She shook her head in a sort of bewildered acceptance. “A year ago, I thought I’d broken free of the shadow of the House of York. I was twenty-four, living on my own in the city in my first little apartment, working at a job I’d _actually earned_ , as I chipped away at my credits and my dissertation, and my biggest personal fears were that I wouldn’t be able to get brunch reservations on Sunday morning.”

His eyes fluttered shut in sudden empathy. “Lizzie, I get it.”

“And now suddenly I have a doctorate, I’m a wife, I’m living in a family home, and I’m having to make decisions that will not only affect the rest of my life…..but _yours_ as well.” She shrugged, her eyes dull as she admitted fault. “So, fine, I’ve put off thinking about becoming a parent. And it’s not because I don’t want children and not because I don’t want _your_ children—it’s just because I haven’t quite _gotten to that point_ in this parallel universe of _instant-everything_ that I’ve been hurled into!”

They stood looking at each other for a long time, just concentrating on taking even breaths. Both realizing that no one was in the right, and no one was in the wrong. Just two people living a life that wasn’t necessarily their choosing, but still trying to make something good out of it.

Harry finally pursed his lips, glancing at his watch. “We don’t have to settle this now.” He quirked his lips sadly. “It’s late, let’s just go to bed.”

 

 

Harry rolled over and reached a tender hand out to Lizzie’s side of the bed, only to find it empty. He sat up off his pillow and narrowed his eyes as they adjusted to the darkness, looking around the room to discover she wasn’t there. He got out of bed and walked into their bathroom—once or twice after a stressful day he’d discovered her taking a hot bath in the middle of the night—but that was empty as well.

He sleepily padded downstairs, thinking she’d gone to the kitchen, but stopped at the second-floor landing when he noticed the door was open to their little guest bedroom, the one she’d talked about during their argument earlier in the night.

She was standing in the room, looking out it’s window onto their patio garden.

“Lizzie.” He said gently from the doorway. “You don’t have to torture yourself about this. Certainly not enough to lose sleep over.”

She turned to him with a soft smile. “I’m not torturing myself. I’m thinking.”

“And that’s not torturing yourself?”

“No. Happy thoughts.” She motioned for him to come into the room and look out the window. “It looks out onto the garden. And I figure by the time any baby was to arrive, the rose bushes I planted would be fully grown. We could even plant vegetables too.”

He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, looking over her shoulder down to the garden. “What, you’d be one of those hyper-vigilant moms who has to grow and mash their own baby food?”

She nudged his middle with her elbow, then held her fingers out, making an invisible square outline into the empty space. “The crib would be here, in front of the window.”

“No, you’re not supposed to put a crib beneath a window.” He shook his head. “That way, you can leave the drapes open all the time to let the natural light in, but not have to worry about the sun getting in their little eyes.”

She quirked a brow. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged sweetly. “Read it somewhere.”

“Okay.” She giggled, pointing to a corner of the room. “It could go there. And we’d paint a mural on the wall.”

“Like unicorns if it’s a girl,” he grinned widely. “and sailboats if it’s a boy.”

“No, if the window overlooks a garden,” she nodded decisively. “then the mural _has to be Peter Rabbit_.”

He placed a soft kiss to her temple. “Peter Rabbit. I like that. Works for a boy or a girl.”

She was silent for a long moment, then he felt her chest expand as she took a deep breath. “It’s always been something I wanted— _children_. Both when I was by myself and since I’ve been with you. But it was an abstract.” She turned in his arms to face him and cupped a hand around the back of his neck. “It’s starting to be real now.”

“And does that scare you?” He nervously chewed on his lip.

“Yes.” Her other hand reached up to run through his hair. “But it’s getting less scary by the moment.”

He looked deep into her eyes. “I’m gonna be here for you, for them.”

“I know that.” She pressed herself closer to him and laid her cheek on his chest. “But thanks for saying it anyway.”

 

 

 

 

 

Lizzie was in her office reorganizing her files when Cate Buckingham poked her head in, smiling brightly.

“I hear congratulations are in order!” She stepped around Lizzie’s desk to give her a sweet side hug. “No one deserves it more, Liz.”

Lizzie beamed up at her mentor. “Thank you so much.”

“I hear you’re meeting with the Directors about potential positions within the Museum.” Cate sat down on the tiny stool Lizzie had put in the corner of her small room.

“I’m going a little mental, turning it over in my head.” Lizzie blew out a deep breath, lifting a brow. “Do you have any idea what the potential positions might be?”

“As a matter of fact,” Cate sat up straighter, jutting her chin out. “One of the positions you’re up for…..is mine.”

Lizzie’s eyes widened, and she shook her head in confusion. “Are you being promoted?”

“No.” Cate gave a strange smile. “I’m leaving the Museum.”

“What?” Lizzie barely croaked out. “Cate, why on earth?”

“I’m moving.” Cate bit her lip slyly, raising both brows. “To America…..Massachusetts in fact.”

Lizzie’s mouth dropped to nearly the floor and she whispered, “Do you…..do you mean…. _Jasper_?”

Cate covered her face with her hands, eyes shyly peeking through her fingers. “Yep.”

“Oh my—Cate!” Lizzie jumped up from her chair, pulling Cate up as well to give her an enormous hug. “You little sneak! You’ve done a pretty good job about keeping it quiet…almost a year and I had no damn idea! And neither did Harry.” She laughed loudly, playfully smacking Cate’s arm. “Oh, there’s gonna be hell to pay when Harry finds out Jasper kept such a secret from him.”

“Well, when you’re our age, you don’t go around shouting every new relationship from the rooftops, since if you’re single at our age it usually means you’ve been burned before. God knows I rushed into my first marriage and my ex turned out to be the biggest asshole to walk the planet.” Cate shook her head, but then smiled sweetly. “Jasper’s not like that. But we wanted to wait until we were sure it was real. And now that we’re sure it is……we’re taking the leap.”

Lizzie took Cate’s hand, then moved them to where they both sat again. “Won’t you miss your life here?”

“Nah, it’ll be an adventure.” Cate waved her hand dismissively. “I’ve lived in London over twenty years, it might be exciting when you’re young and free, but as you get older it just seems loud and congested.” She gave a wink for show. “Jasper did make a deal with me that if we’ve spent a year in America and I just can’t adjust to it, then we’d come back to Britain—but to Wales.”

“I’ll miss you.” Lizzie’s smile was truthful before a nervous exhale slipped past her lips. “So, I’m up for your job?”

Cate took Lizzie’s hand in both of hers. “And you were my only recommendation to the Board of who should replace me.” She grinned proudly. “You’d be wonderful in my position.”

 

 

 

 

“Hey.” Harry was laying on the sofa when Lizzie came home, but he sat up when he heard the front door open. “How was your meeting this afternoon?”

Lizzie took off her coat and placed her bag down, biting her lip. “Um, interesting.”

“Speaking of interesting,” he chuckled as he turned off the television and looked at her over the back of the sofa. “I spoke to Jasper today.”

“I know, right? Cate told me.” Lizzie laughed along, coming to sit next to him. “Out of nowhere!”

“ _Not really_ out of nowhere.” He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his side. “I hear you were the one who introduced them.”

“I did, at the wedding so they’d have a dance partner.” She let her high heels drop to the floor and tucked her feet up under her before pressing into his side again. “But I didn’t think they’d end up _living together_!”

“He’s happy. Something you did made my Uncle Jasper happy.” Harry’s smile could be felt as he brushed feathery kisses along Lizzie’s temple. “Yet another reason you’re completely fucking brilliant.” He joined their hands. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

“I love Jasper too, Harry.” She looked up at him with shining eyes. “And Cate’s wonderful, so I’m thrilled all around.”

“Oh, I got off track.” His eyes widened once he remembered. “What happened in your meeting?”

“Um, well,” she looked down at their hands. “I was offered Cate’s job, since I was the sole—and strong—recommendation she gave to the Board to replace herself.”

He uncoupled their hands, so he could gently cup her face and place a sweet kiss on her cheek. “Lizzie, that’s great.”

Lizzie sat up and turned away from him for a moment, before anxiously facing him again. “But I was also offered another position.” She took a nervous breath. “In Procurement and International Relations.”

“What does that entail?” Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“It involves procuring artifacts from all around the world for exhibits in the museum.” She shrugged, shaking her head. “It’d be a _huge_ promotion, Harry. A huge, _important_ undertaking. Something I never dreamed I’d be offered.”

His face lit up with joy. “Well, then take it.”

“Harry, you don’t understand.” She let her eyes slip shut. “I’d be traveling all over the world—and often negotiating with governments and private citizens to relinquish the artifacts to us.” She rubbed her temples, her brain still processing all she’d been told this afternoon. “That takes time. I could be gone for weeks each go around. And all told, be away maybe a third of the year.”

Harry sat quiet and pensive, swallowing audibly before he nodded. “If this is what you’ve been working toward your whole academic life…..then we can make it work.”

“Harry.” Lizzie clenched her eyes shut. “I’m not sure I even—"

His hand gently cupped her neck. “It’s a tremendous opportunity. A tremendous honor.” He smiled proudly. “And one _you’ve earned_ , Lizzie York.”

She shook her head slightly. “I have to think of all the things I’d be giving up when I’m gone a third of the year.”

“Like what?”

She gave him a small, sad smile. “Like _you_.”

“No, not me.” He shook his head determinedly, voice deepening. “I’m here. We're not giving each other up. No matter how many nights we spend apart.” His hand traveled down to rest over her heart. “You have a proud husband who knows you deserve this.”

“Grocery shopping with you on Saturday morning, darts at the pub, dinners together, Netflix on the sofa.” Her eyes began to water. “We were going to visit Jasper in America—and now that includes Cate.”

“We can still do all those things.” He affirmed as he tried to calm her. He then waited a few breaths. “Lizzie, do you _want_ the job?”

A long silence hung in the air. “Yes, I do…….but I’m not sure if it’s what I _need_ …..if it’s what’s best for me—for us.” She turned her head to look at the stairs. “And I keep picturing that little bedroom upstairs with the Peter Rabbit mural.”

“Lizzie, you’re twenty-five.” He pressed a soft kiss into her palm, regaining her attention. “You could have this job for years and still have plenty of time for us to have a family.”

“This was the job I’d always dreamed of, but that was when it was _just me_.” She laid her head on his shoulder and kissed his knuckles. “It’s not just me anymore.”

“You’re uncertain, I get that. But Lizzie, don’t be uncertain because of me.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “Whatever you choose, I’ll be here. I’ll support you.”

Lizzie smirked to herself. “Your mother will be unbearable if I take this job.”

“My mother is not a factor in this…” he discreetly breathed in the lavender scent of her hair. “….only you.”

 

 

 

 

Lizzie walked into the house the next evening to find it darkened, quiet and still. She saw Harry’s case and jacket by the door, so she knew he must be there, but looked in the living room only to find it empty. So, she then went straight into the kitchen—and found Harry in the middle of the room waiting for her.

The only light in the kitchen came from the votive candles on their tiny table, surrounding a large vase of white roses. Two plates sat on opposite sides and a tiny box rested on one of them.

Harry stood with his hands folded in front of him, smiling widely. “Welcome home.”

“Harry.” Her mouth dropped open in awe. “What is all this?”

He walked to her. “Just something I whipped up.” He kissed her cheek. “Congratulations, Lizzie. I know you worked very hard for this, and I’m proud of you. Whatever you need…….we’ll work together to make it happen.”

She beamed at him with tears shining in her eyes. “Thank you, Harry.”

He tugged on her hand and moved them over to the table, pulling out her chair for her. “I hope you’re hungry. I went all the way to your old neighborhood and got _Chole Paneer Masala_ for you……which means, however, that I will be having a steak pasty.”

She giggled and sat in the chair. He sat down opposite her. She looked at the box on her still-empty plate. “What’s in the box?”

“I wanted to get you something to mark your great achievement.” He gave her a small smirk and gestured to the box with his chin. “Open it.”

She opened the box with trembling fingers and nearly gasped when she saw a beautiful, shining garnet pendant resting on a platinum chain. “Harry.” The tears that had been accumulating slowly slid down her cheeks. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Garnet.” He said softly, ducking his head. “It’s the birthstone for January.”

Her brows furrowed. “I was born in February.”

“I know.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “But _I was born in January_. I wanted you to have it, a little piece of me, close to your heart…….no matter how far away you might be.”

She twined their fingers and wiped away her tears with her free hand. “Well, I’ll always wear it.” She smiled tenderly at him over the flame of the candles. “But the Museum is really not that far away.”

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “The _Museum_?”

“Yes.” Her eyes twinkled happily at him. “I took Cate’s old job.”

Harry’s face immediately fell, not sharing her emotion. “Lizzie…. _why_?”

“Cate’s job is a great job.” Lizzie assured him, squeezing his hand. “And I know it well, so I’ll be able to do great things with it.”

“Lizzie,” Harry exhaled loudly before continuing uncertainly. “it’s not as good as the Procurement job.”

“Maybe, from a certain point of view…” she shrugged matter-of-factly. “…..but not _my_ point of view.”

He rubbed his forehead. “Lizzie, you need to think about this.”

“I _have_.” She nodded, her tone firm, implicitly telling him not to argue with her. “You said that _I_ was the only factor in taking or not taking the job—but I’m _not_. You’re a factor as well. You and our life together.” Her face glowed with gratitude and pride. “I’m tied irrevocably to you, so everything I do for the rest of my life, I have to think of you as well. And our life together would have suffered if I’d taken the job.”

Harry got off his chair and knelt before her. “I would never ask you to turn down a great opportunity like this because of me.”

“I know you wouldn’t…….and _that’s_ why I turned it down.” She brushed sweet lips over his temple. “You knew that if I took the job, it would be a sacrifice for you, but you supported me anyway. _Nothing and No One_ _Else_ in my life has ever given me that kind of support.” She held his face in both her palms. “So, that’s how I know that _you’re_ what I want. More than any job. More than anything.”

He ran a gentle hand into her hair. “I don’t want you to look back on this and regret it.”

“ _That’s_ what I’d be doing if I _took_ the job.” She gave him a long, lazy kiss before pulling back and wrapping her arms around his neck. “If I didn’t give my everything to this…..to _us_ , to what we have together, then I’d regret it for the rest of my life.”

“For the rest of my days,” Harry stroked his palms up her side, then laid his cheek against her chest. “whatever you do…….. you’ve got me.”

She laid her cheek to the crown of his head. “And you’ve got me.”

 

 

 

The room was dark, with only the fire in the fireplace lighting them. The room was quiet, with only heavy breaths and an occasional groan sounding out into the darkened space. Their clothes were as they’d left them—in a trail from the kitchen table to where they sat with naked flesh covering, pressed to, buried in, and wrapped around each other.

She had one hand tangled in his hair, the other tightly gripping the back of the sofa, and his hot breath was flushing the exertion-heated skin of her collarbone into a deep pink. Her knees dug into the cushions where they knelt on either side of him and her eyes fluttered shut when she felt his hips tilt up underneath her.

She rolled hers down into his lap, their bellies pressing together as they moved in contrast to each other, and she smiled slyly when she heard a strangled moan fall from his lips. His large hands encompassed the bare skin of her waist, his fingertips stroking into the sweat-slick base of her spine.

“Fuck, Tudor,” she threw her head back, the ends of her hair touching his hands. “you feel so fucking good inside me.”

“Well, York,” he gently scraped his teeth along the slope of her breast. “ _being inside you_ is pretty damn nice, too.”

He pressed further into her body and she felt him tremble fully, before a low groan left his lungs as he came deep inside her. She held him tighter to her, his cheek pillowed against her breasts.

“I never deserved you.” He whispered throatily into the dark of their living room as his fingertips gently touched the garnet pendant hanging off her neck.

She pulled his head back and kissed him deeply. “Of _course_ you deserved me, you still do, and if you stay the man you are—you always will.”

 

 

 

 


	10. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy and Devotion. And then the best emotion of all.

“How about paella?” Lizzie asked loudly across the nearly empty grocery store as she walked through the aisles, fingers skimming over boxes on the shelf. “You’d like that.”

“Spanish food?” Harry groaned skeptically, leaning on the display case over by the meat counter. “Truly?”

She walked over to him and put a gentle hand on the small of his back. “It’s rice and meat and beans, Harry. It’s not going to bite you.”

His face twisted in a small grimace. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I do.” She kissed his chin and smiled at the butcher when he handed Harry their roast. “I’m making it on Tuesday for dinner. And if you have a problem with that, you can sit at the table, pouting at your plate like a four-year-old.”

He chuckled and playfully patted the crown of her head. “Yes, dear.”

She moved down through another aisle as he ambled over to the cheese section, shouting back to him, “Do we need crisps for when Jack and Richie come over to watch the rugby game?”

He was about to answer her when another voice cut in. “ _Harry?_ ”

Harry turned suddenly to find a brunette, curly-headed, Scottish blast from his past. His mouth fluttered open and he almost lost grip on his grocery basket. “Cathy.”

The woman walked to him and wrapped an arm around his neck, giving him a hug. “I thought that was you! Oh my God, Harry. How are you?”

Harry looked around the market anxiously and gave a tight smile. “I’m good. Everything’s good.”

“Really?” Cathy quirked a brow and twisted her lips sympathetically. She lowered her voice, leaning closer to him. “I heard about your…… _situation._ ”

He leaned his head back and narrowed his eyes, repeating unsurely, “Situation?”

“Your crazy mother!” Cathy chuckled, shaking her head. “Her archaic, outdated way of life. I remember what she was like, but this is beyond the pale. Forcing you to marry some _stranger._ ”

“Oh.” His raised his brows and blinked rapidly. “That? Um, that actually turned out really well.”

She gave him a doubtful look. “Seriously?”

Harry glanced over to the aisles to see that Lizzie was now standing at the end of one, taking in the scene of Harry and Cathy getting reacquainted with a strange look on her face.

He waved for Lizzie to come over. “Here she is, actually.” Lizzie walked to them and Harry shifted his basket to wrap his arm around her. “Cathy? This is my wife, Lizzie York.” Harry gave Lizzie a pleading, _don’t-make-a-scene_ look. “Lizzie? This is Cathy Gordon, an old friend of mine.”

Lizzie held out her hand. “Pleasure.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” Cathy took the hand and shook it nicely enough.

She did, however, look Lizzie over from head to toe with a cynical quirked brow. Lizzie took note of Cathy’s polished appearance and found herself thankful she’d brushed her hair and didn’t come shopping in Harry’s old t-shirt and the threadbare sweats she had on this morning.

“Harry was just telling me how your arrangement has worked out well.” Cathy continued, gesturing back to Harry.

“Our _arrangement_?” Lizzie smirked wickedly as she twined her fingers with Harry’s hand hanging off her shoulder. “We just call it a _marriage_.”

“Oh, of course.” Cathy smirked back. “It’s just strange. All through school Harry railed about the Great Noble Houses and how backward and medieval they were…..and now he’s forced to make a _major life adjustment_ because of something they _mandated_.”

Lizzie had to take a few breaths before she could speak again, but luckily Harry spoke first, comfortingly stroking his thumb along Lizzie’s palm. “What are you doing in town, Cathy?”

“Just visiting.” Cathy shrugged. “I’ll be back in Cambridge at the end of the week. Are you still at the London School?”

“Yeah.” Harry confirmed, then proudly nodded over to Lizzie. “And Lizzie just got her doctorate, she’s Assistant Director of the Antiquity exhibits at the British Museum.”

“Oh wow! Well, the least they could do is shackle you to someone with a brain.” Cathy exclaimed with an impressed look. “I love the British Museum.” She then followed her semi-compliment by smiling condescendingly at Lizzie. “I’m so impressed when a woman of peerage actually accomplishes something like that…….instead of just languishing in her family estate.”

Harry grimaced and groaned internally, taking note of Lizzie’s reddening face. “We need……” he looked to Lizzie both apologetically and desperately. “don’t we need to go, darling?”

Lizzie glared at Cathy. “We _certainly_ do.”

“Well,” Cathy stepped up again to give Harry a hug, which he did not return. “Don’t be a stranger, Harry Tudor.” She gave Lizzie one last glance over. “Lovely to meet you.”

“You too.” Lizzie uttered through clenched teeth with a plastered smile.

“Huh, I do wish you all the best with this one.” Cathy fluttered her eyelashes at Lizzie, patting Harry on the shoulder. “Our Harry can be a bit of an acquired taste.”

Lizzie thought of the night before—with Harry laid out naked on their bed, moaning at the silky feel of her hair trailing over his skin as her mouth traveled down every inch of him, until she was kneeling between his legs. She quirked a devilish brow. “I rather like his taste.”

Harry’s brows shot up to his hairline and he coughed uncomfortably, covering it with a fist. He began to corral Lizzie away down the aisle, yelling back, “Cathy, lovely to see you.”

 

 

Sitting beside each other on the Tube, each with a grocery bag in hand, Harry and Lizzie didn’t speak for the first five minutes of the ride. Finally, Lizzie let out a deep sigh.

“So?” She gave a tentative smile. “Cathy.”

He winced. “Old friend from University—but I also knew her from France. She went to the girl’s satellite of my academy, and sometimes the girl’s and boy’s schools would converge. Trying to get us socialized.”

“Well………” she whistled, sitting up straighter. “I kind of hate her fucking guts.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, we were good friends back in my anti-monarchy, _ultra-liberal-but-actually-just-annoyingly-arrogant-know-it-all phase_.” He smirked widely. “Doesn’t seem like Cathy grew out of that.”

“You were good friends?” She paused, waiting to receive his nod. “And yet there were eight-hundred people at our wedding and _she wasn’t one of them_.”

“We grew apart.” He ducked his head shyly. “And, well……I didn’t think it would be appropriate to have her there.”

Lizzie nodded to herself, her suspicions confirmed. “Because she’s an ex-girlfriend.”

Harry pursed his lips and nodded in return. “Yeah.”

“You could have just told me that, Harry.” She tiredly laid her head back on the window behind her seat. “You’re thirty-three years old. I’m not under any delusions that you’d been celibate up until you married me.”

“I know.” He gave her a small, contrite smile. “I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

 

 

When they made it to their street, Harry noticed that Lizzie seemed intent to walk a step or two ahead of him. And when they got to the house and began unloading their bags, they were out of sync.

Usually, after they got back from the market on Saturday mornings, they put away their groceries in a sort of dance, arms raised and lowered in a choreography so that nothing and no one was in the other’s way, cupboards and drawers opened and closed at the precise right moment so that no one bumped into them.

But after about the sixth time they’d said ‘ _I’m sorry’_ to each other for smacking into things, Lizzie abandoned the kitchen without a word and stomped out through their garden doors onto the patio. She opened the wood bench that held her gardening tools and then went over to the hedge of rose bushes she’d planted when they’d first moved in. She began aggressively pruning them, the harsh sound of the shears piercing into the quiet.

Harry made sure all perishables were put away, but then left the rest of the food on the counters so that he could stand on the stoop by the garden doors and watch her with amused curiosity.

“Are you gonna talk to me?” He asked with a teasing lilt. “Or are you going to keep attacking the poor rose bush as you stand there and stew?”

“I’m not stewing!” She harshly yanked on the stems of the bush. “And the fact that you think I _am_ stewing is just—” she yelped, and her face screwed up in pain as she shook her hand. “ _Ow_!!”

He quickly stepped off the stoop and came over to her, taking her hand in his when he saw drops of blood forming on her finger. “Here, let me.”

“I’m fine.” She pulled back on her hand.

He didn’t let go. “You’re not. There’s a thorn imbedded in your skin.” He tried walking them back into the kitchen, but she dug her feet into the bricks beneath her, refusing to move. He sighed, opening his arms in exasperation. “Alright, stand there with a thorn in your skin and let it get infected.”

She huffed out a breath and stalked past him back into the kitchen, immediately walking to the sink. She turned away from him as she ran water over the puncture wound. He finally came up behind her as she was closely examining the thorn in her finger and opened the cupboard next to the refrigerator to pull out a first-aid kit. He put it on the counter beside her and opened it, taking out rubbing alcohol and a needle.

“I can do it myself.” She said through clenched teeth when she saw him sterilizing it.

“That thorn will take two hands to get out. So, no you can’t.” He grabbed her hand a little forcefully and gave her a sly smirk. “Your stubbornness is adorable.” He brought the thorn-riddled finger close to his eye. “But your jealousy of Cathy Gordon is hilarious.”

“I am _not_ —” She stopped herself and glared at him. “You’re really the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.” He only chuckled at that, so she eased from her glaring and instead chewed her lip. “How long were you with her?”

He stuck the needle in her skin. “Two years.”

She winced. Not only from the needle. “That’s twice as long as I’ve even known you, Harry.”

“I’m aware.” He grinned up at her before he carefully dug around in her skin.

“Did you love her?”

“Maybe, at the time.” He answered matter-of-factly. The needle had done its job, so he placed it on the counter and took her finger between his two thumbs, squeezing deeply. “But truthfully, she was just convenient. Easy to be with because we liked the same things and lived in the same sphere.”

She squirmed as the thorn began to ease from her flesh. “Why’d you break up?”

“Our feelings began to fade. Our relationship had run its course.” He shrugged, grabbing the tweezers to remove the thorn fully. “And even during our best times, we both knew that whenever that started to happen, we didn’t care enough to fight for it.”

She pulled her finger from his, clenching her eyes shut. “I see.”

“No, you don’t.” He closed the first-aid kit and retook her hand into both of his. “You, Lizzie York, are remarkably _inconvenient_ —and yet, if I ever felt our feelings for each other begin to fade…..I’d fight for you tooth and nail, and burn down every building in London if that’s what it would take to keep you.”

Her eyes watered, and she smiled softly, brushing back a lock of his hair with her other hand. “Harry.”

“And that’s why your jealousy of Cathy Gordon is hilarious.” His thumb gently massaged her palm. “Not because I find it flattering.” He kissed the wound on her finger and looked up at her with tender fondness. “But because it’s utterly absurd that _you_ would be jealous of _her._ ”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry was just heading down into his regular Tube station to go home at the end of the day, when his phone rang. He saw that it was Lizzie, so he walked back up the steps into daylight to take the call.

“Hey.” He smiled as he brought the phone to his ear. “What’s up?”

“Hello?” A strange voice asked over the line. “Is this Harry Tudor?”

“It is.” Harry’s face instantly screwed up in anxiety. “You’re calling from Lizzie York’s phone.”

“Yes, I know. Harry, my name is Elinor Dashwood—I work with Lizzie.” The woman took in an audible breath. “I’m sorry, but there’s been an accident. Lizzie’s been injured.”

Suddenly, it felt as though the sky fell over him.

“Is she being taken to hospital?” Harry inquired, voice rising as he moved along into the sidewalks.

“Yes. She’s already there.” Elinor answered quickly. “University College Hospital.”

Harry looked around at the street signs near him. “I’m actually close by, tell her I’ll be there soon.”

“Harry.” The responding voice was tremulous. “She’s not conscious.”

 

 

 

“I don’t understand.” Harry rubbed his forehead as he stood in a hallway at the hospital. “They were adolescent boys?”

“Yes, it was honestly nothing intentional.” Elinor told him calmingly. “The museum was crowded today, and Lizzie had stopped on the stairs to……" Elinor guiltily bit her lip. “well, I actually stopped her to ask her a question. The boys were just playing—pushing and shoving—like eleven-year-old boys do. One of them accidently bumped into Lizzie, she lost her footing and fell hard down a couple flights of—”

Harry stopped her by holding up his hand. “Do you mean the _main stairs_? The enormous flights of stairs in the Great Court?”

Elinor’s eyes began to water. “Yes.”

Harry walked to a nearby wall and leaned against it wearily. “Fuck. No wonder she’s unconscious.”

“The boys and their families are still at the museum, offering any help they can.” Elinor sighed heavily. “They truly are so very sorry, Harry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Harry nodded to her. “It was an accident. Lizzie would be the first person to tell them it’s alright.”

 

 

 

“The scan showed no immediate signs of permanent damage.” The doctor told Harry as they both gazed upon Lizzie, unconscious in bed through a glass window. “That’s very good news. And no broken bones either, which is very lucky, given the accounts at the scene of those who witnessed her fall. She’ll be rather bruised in a few places, though.”

“If there’s no damage, then why isn’t she awake?” Harry’s eyes narrowed in concern.

“I said she showed no signs of ‘ _permanent damage’_.” The doctor clarified. “But even still, your wife has suffered a trauma.” He then smiled slightly. “The human body has a remarkable capacity to heal itself, but it uses up a lot of strength to do that. This could merely be her body doing what it needs to recover.”

Harry looked at him pleadingly, carding a hand through his hair. “And she’ll be fine here until she wakes up?”

“Well, she’s not on any life support apparatuses. Only IV fluids and small doses of prophylactic antibiotics.” The doctor nodded. “If at any time she begins to moan as if she might be in pain, let one of the nurses know and we can do something about that.”

“I don’t, I just—” Harry’s mouth fluttered open and closed, completely lost at the idea of _nothing he could do to fix this_. “How long do you think—”

“I don’t like to guess.” The doctor cut in. “But we’ll continue to monitor her.” He patted Harry on the arm. “I know this is hard, but this is one of the best-case scenarios we usually get around here. Give your wife some time to come back to you.”

 

 

 

“Henry.”

Harry’s head snapped back from the wall and he sat up straight in the chair, rubbing his eyes. “Mother?” He looked around the small room containing two chairs, a small table, his mother wrapped up primly in coat and scarf as she stood at the door—and his wife, unmoving in a hospital bed. “What time is it?”

“A little after 8pm.” Margaret answered as she sat in the chair next to him. She saw the numb, heartbroken look on his face and reached to take his hand. “Oh, my son. What can I do?”

Harry shook his head. “Has anyone called Elizabeth? York Manor?”

“The woman from the museum who had contacted me,” Margaret furrowed her brow. “Ellen, I think—”

“Elinor.” Harry corrected.

“She’s called them.” Margaret informed, continuing on. “They’re obviously very concerned, but with you here, they think it best to wait to come down tomorrow morning.”

Harry nodded, rubbing over the worry lines in his forehead. “Yes, probably.”

Margaret began carefully. “I spoke to the doctors and—”

“Is this how it felt with Father?” Harry cut in with a broken voice, looking despondently over at Lizzie in the bed. “Like the whole world was falling apart and would never get put back together?”

Margaret clenched her eyes shut and slumped back in the chair, one of only a few times he’d seen her break from her lady-like propriety. “With your father, I was more terrified for you—not even born yet and condemned to a life without a father.” She let out a sad sigh. “And he was my husband, the father of my child, so I’ll always honor him for that…… but I barely knew him.” She looked over at Harry perceptively, with a softness that at most times was very out-of-character. “I didn’t feel for him what you obviously feel for Lizzie. Because _you do_ , don’t you, Henry?”

Harry gave an almost imperceptible nod. “A part of me will always resent you for taking this choice out of my hands.” He reached out to the edge of the bed and covered Lizzie’s hand with his own. “But the choice itself? That will probably turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She gave him a small grin. “I will take thanks in the form of grandchildren.”

Harry’s cheek began to glisten with a trail of tears. “What if she never—”

“She will.” Margaret grabbed his face between her palms, speaking determinedly. “She will, Henry. The doctors have all said so, now you just have to believe it, too.”

 

 

 

“Hi, Harry.”

At the sound of the sweet voice, Harry turned from looking out the window to see Richie holding the door open and Maggie standing beside him, holding a small bag. Harry stood from his chair.

Richie came forward first, giving his friend a big hug, with Maggie coming forward directly after to place a small kiss on his cheek. “How are you, Harry?”

Harry blew out an enormous, helpless breath. “Well….you know….”

Maggie came over to stand at the head of Lizzie’s bed, looking down at her unconscious cousin. “Has there been any change?”

Harry just shook his head in the negative.

“We can’t stay long, it’s _way past_ visiting hours and we sort of conned a nurse into letting us come in here in the first place,” Richie shrugged apologetically. “she said five minutes at the most.”

“We just came to give you this.” Maggie gestured to the bag she was holding. “We used the spare key Lizzie gave me, hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s just some items you’d need since you’re spending the night.” Richie added. “Contact solution, toothbrush, change of clothes.”

Harry’s face smoothed over in gratitude. “Thank you, so much.” Maggie held out the bag and Harry’s eyes widened to the size of saucers when he caught a glimpse of something on her hand. “Maggie? What…….what’s that on your left hand ring finger?”

Maggie smiled as she held out her hand to show an engagement ring, she then glanced over at Richie before returning her gaze to Harry. “We were going to tell the two of you at dinner tomorrow.”

“Oh my—” Harry grabbed his childhood friend again in a congratulatory hug and then grasped Maggie’s hand between both of his, kissing her cheek. “That’s wonderful news. Lizzie will be so happy……” Harry’s eyes then traveled over to the bed. “…..when she wakes up.”

 

 

 

It was a little after 09:00am the next day, when Harry heard the commotion down the hall. Clacking sounds of high heels on the floor and a loud feminine voice talking over all other discussions. Then Cecily appeared in the doorway and gave a heavy sigh, rolling her eyes.

“She’s on a rampage with the floor nurses.” Was the first thing his sister-in-law said, obviously referring to her mother. “Any excuse to be overdramatic.” But then Cecily came fully into the room, going over to the side of Lizzie’s bed. Her face crumpled in pain and concern, with a broken sob escaping. “I, I…….Harry….what?”

Harry rose immediately from his chair to speak soothing words. “She just needs time. That’s what all the doc—”

“Oh, my poor girl!!” Elizabeth stormed into the room and pushed past Cecily to the side of the bed. She placed a kiss on Lizzie’s forehead and took her hand. “What misery to see the one’s you love in such pain.”

Harry heaved a sigh. “The doctor’s say she’s probably not in much pain. Her body is just taking this time to heal itself.”

“Not in much pain?!” Elizabeth repeated with mocking doubt. “She was basically thrown down a flight of stairs! I hope those boys are dealt with severely!”

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. “Those boys are eleven-year-olds. And it was an accident.”

“I was thinking of staying at your house with you, after Lizzie wakes up.” Elizabeth pondered without including anyone else in the conversation. “Perhaps even hiring a health aide. She’ll need someone to take care of her while she recovers.”

“Elizabeth,” Harry exhaled lowly. “That won’t be necessary.”

Elizabeth turned her head to the side, examining Harry from head to toe. “Henry, you look tired.” She ran a gentle hand over Lizzie’s hair. “We’re here now. Why don’t you go home and try to get some sleep?”

“I’m fine, Elizabeth.” Harry replied, the evenness in his tone clearly forced.

“No, really.” Elizabeth spoke without looking at him. “It makes no sense for you to be frazzled and exhausted when her family is here and can look after her while you get some rest.”

Harry purposefully moved into Elizabeth’s line of sight, speaking decisively and loudly. “I’m _not leaving_.”

Elizabeth stepped back, clearly offended as she brought a shocked hand to her chest. “Henry, I’m merely suggesting—”

“Well, thank you for your suggestion, Elizabeth. But I’m not leaving this hospital until _she_ leaves here _with me_.” He held Elizabeth’s gaze with fire burning in his eyes. “And the next time you suggest I leave here, I’ll call security and _suggest_ that they escort you from the building. You see, _I can do that_ …..as her next of kin.” He shook his head slightly. “And you’ll not be staying at our house, nor will a health aide. She’s my wife. I’m her husband. And I’ll be the one to take care of her.”

Harry could see Cecily’s face from where she stood behind Elizabeth. It was a little amused—and noticeably impressed. “Okay then,” Cecily’s voice finally cut into the awkwardness that hung in the air for many moments, her tone clearly proud of her sister’s husband. “It seems Harry’s not leaving.”

 

 

 

The dream was the worst he’s ever had. Wandering through the darkened halls in their empty home. Knowing that he would never again hear her call his name or catch her laughter ringing out into even the farthest room. The rose bushes would rot under the heavy weight of her absence.

Luckily, a soft hand is what woke him. Fingers dancing through the curls at his temple. He lifted his head from the edge of the bed to find her beautiful blue eyes staring back at him.

“Harry.” She cleared her throat, voice hoarse and raspy from disuse. “I think I fell.”

He should have done something better than what he did. He should have kissed her, taken her in his arms, declared his undying devotion and never let her go. But instead he just chuckled until he was forced to take a breath.

“Yes, darling.” He still chuckled at her, joyfully taking her hand and laying a dozen kisses into her palm. “You fell. You’re in hospital.”

“Yeah, I gathered.” She tried to sit up, but he held out his hand and shook his head, making her lay flat again. “How long have I been in here?”

He reached up over the bed to ring for the nurse. “One full day. This is going on your second.” His hand then moved down to brush his thumb over the apple of her cheek, and he continued apologetically. “And, um, you had visitors….but I may have scared off your mum.”

“Good.” She giggled weakly, bringing a hand to her head. “Oh, I have got a headache like I’ve never had before.”

“Well, you got pretty banged up. But they’re also pretty sure you’ve got no permanent damage done.” He sat on the bed next to her. “And I made sure they ran you through every machine in this place.”

She grinned up at him. “I bet you whipped all the doctors and nurses into shape, but good.”

“Damn right.” He leaned down to place a quick but meaningful kiss on her lips. “They were dealing with very precious cargo.”

 

 

 

 

“So, you’re supposed to rest today and tomorrow.” Harry told her as they walked through their front door. “Then after, you go back to see the doctor and have another scan.”

Lizzie winced as he helped her take off her coat—her muscles terribly sore and skin covered in bruises. “The days of rest I’m glad for……..another scan I’m not so thrilled about.”

He gently cupped her jaw and placed a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth. “And yet, look at me—not caring if you dislike the scans.”

“Alright, alright.” She giggled up at him. “I did get tossed about like a sack of potatoes, so I guess we’re not messing around with possible internal damage.”

“Are you hungry? I could make you something.” He let her go with a grin and looked to his watch. “God, you haven’t eaten in…..over seventy-two hours.”

“No, I think one of my pills is making me queasy.” She laid a hand on her stomach. “I just want to go upstairs and take a bath to get the hospital film off me.” She placed her foot on the first step and grimaced when she felt a pain shoot up her back. “I may need help with that, though.”

“You got it.” He placed an arm around her and was at her side the whole journey upstairs, carefully maneuvering her at each step and around the landing.

She chuckled at his hovering. “I know I’m injured, but I’m not made of glass, Harry.”

“You’ll just have to excuse me if I’m nervous at the idea of you on stairs for a while.” He smirked back at her.

They came into their bathroom and he turned on the water for her bath. He helped her out of her clothes and went back into their closet to lay out fresh ones for her as she brushed her teeth.

“I’m praying you have my engagement and wedding rings?” She mumbled around a mouthful of toothpaste.

“In your jewelry box.” He responded with a small smile, thinking of Maggie’s own engagement, which she would soon reveal to Lizzie in a days’ time. “They released your personal items to me the first night. And I gave them to Maggie, so she could bring them back here.”

“I want them back on after my bath.” She demanded like a queen, looking at her hand which almost felt partially-amputated without the jewelry she’d not taken off since her wedding day.

He nodded. “Oh!” He exclaimed suddenly, shouting out. “Wait a minute, I’ll be right back!”

He ran out of the room, down the stairs and into the kitchen, taking something out of the cupboard. He ran back up to his waiting wife and stopped at their bathtub, showing her a bottle.

“Cooking oil?” She quirked an amused brow.

He poured some into the cap and held it underneath the fall of the faucet, letting the oil melt into the hot water. “A nurse said it will help get the residue from the medical tape off your skin.”

He turned off the faucet and checked the temperature of the water. Finding it acceptable, he walked over to her, moving her to the edge and then gingerly helping her down into the bathtub.

“Oh god, after the past few days,” She sighed blissfully as she sunk into the steamy water. “this feels like heaven.”

He leaned over her, pressing a kiss to her hairline as he took a subtle, comforting whiff of her hair—which somehow, even after four days in hospital, still smelled of lavender. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Her eyes shot open, catching his as he pulled back from her. “No, Harry.” Her voice was vulnerable and entreating. “Please……..please don’t leave.”

He nodded without hesitation and sat down on the floor, pulling himself next to the bathtub, facing opposite so that he gazed upon her relaxed, supine form.

Lizzie’s eyes were trained to her hands as they moved around, making small waves in the water. She began softly. “So, Cecily tells me you were quite protective of me while in hospital.”

He grinned widely. “I’m beginning to think it’s a good thing we don’t trust Cecily with Crown secrets.”

“She was just proud of you.” Lizzie smiled sweetly. “Just wanted me to know how happy she was that I had a husband who finally……” she bit her lip, voice trembling with unspoken emotion. “who finally…….”

He sat up closer to her. “And _I do_ , Lizzie.” He joined their hands and twined their fingers. “I didn’t want to tell you in the hospital because I didn’t want you to think that I was _only telling you_ because I’d been afraid of losing you…..I mean I _was_ afraid of losing you—completely and utterly terrified, in fact—but that’s not the reason. I mean, I’d felt it long before that. And I think we do caring things every day, say wonderful things every day, things that let each other know how we……and I can’t believe I’ve never said it aloud before, since I feel it _every damn second_ of every day. Even when I’m cross or you’re irritated with me—and I _know_ we feel like that sometimes—but it never, _ever_ goes away…...what I feel for you. And I guess I needed to tell you so that not another day goes by without you knowing……” he rubbed his neck, chuckling self-deprecatingly. “……I’m off on a hopeless ramble.”

Her eyes twinkled with unwavering devotion as she stated clearly, “You love me.”

“I love you.” He nearly giggled with joy, face lighting up with easy relief. “How I have loved you. I didn’t know I could love. Lizzie—”

“—I love you too.” She interrupted with a silly, brilliant grin splitting her face as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you. So, so very much, Tudor.”

He sat up further and took her face in his hands, kissing her long and hard, then pulled back so they could both laugh like happy idiots. “You love me.”

She nodded decisively and repeatedly for several long moments, then pressed her forehead to his. “I never thought we’d have this.”

“But we do.” He stroked his hand along her damp forearm, lips brushing along the apple of her cheek. “And none shall take it from us.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sense and Sensibility shout-out, ya'll!!


	11. Chaos, Cold, Contentment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blizzard and Valentine's Day both give our couple great gifts.

Harry walked in the house to find the fireplace blazing, the lights on, and soft music wafting through the air. Confusion grew in his eyes, since he had believed he’d be the first one home.

“Lizzie?” He called out, shaking snow from his coat before hanging it up on the rack.

She came out of the kitchen, smiling. “Hello! I knew LSE had called off classes due to the blizzard,” she walked to him and kissed his lips quickly. “but I thought you’d hang on at the office for a little longer.”

“Nah, have you looked outside lately?” He pulled her closer and kissed her again, deeper this time. He then sneakily snuck his hand under the hem of her blouse to touch his freezing fingertips to her bare ribs.

“Jesus!” She jumped back suddenly at the icy caress. “God, Harry, your fingers!”

“ _What_?” He gave her a look of faux-innocence, trying to reach for her again. “Are my fingers _cold_?”

“Why, you little…..” she playfully smacked his arm. “nice way to goose your poor wife, Tudor.”

He pulled her to him again with a grin, this time with a hand on her covered ass. “Ah, you can take it.”

He slipped his tongue into her willingly-opened mouth and moved them both to where his body firmly pressed her into the wall of their foyer. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and teasingly ran her fingernails over his shoulder blades, hard enough that he moaned at the feel of them even through the fabric of his shirt.

It had been two and a half months since her fall at work, and a month since her doctor had given her the go ahead to ‘ _resume all regular activities’_. The _wink-wink_ in that was implied even in the doctor’s office…..and they’d _seriously_ been taking advantage from the moment she and Harry had walked in their house after the appointment. Even going so far as begging off Christmas events at _both_ Coldharbour House and York Manor in favor of spending most of their holiday break naked in their cozy bed or scantily dressed on their comfy sofa in front of the fireplace.

They’d already been half-resuming their sex life weeks before her doctor’s all clear…….feeling like randy teenagers as their amorous activities went right up to—but not quite _crossing_ —that proverbial line. Harry, most of all, was unwilling to do anything that might put her health at risk just because he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. But the weeks of them _truly being unable_ to fool around due to her physical weakness and recovery had taken their toll, especially since the long drought came on the heels of their declarations of love.

He’d put up a valiant argument when—halfway between the six-week span from her fall and the doctor’s okay—her hand snuck lower than usual underneath their covers when he slipped into their bed and innocently took her in his arms. She’d sworn to him that she knew her limits and would neither exceed them herself nor let him do the same. She was determined to live a long and happy life with him and wouldn’t push her body into something that called that into question—but also knew that her recovery was suffering because of her hot-blooded frustration at them not taking pleasure in each other.

He’d halfheartedly shaken her off that night, but her warm palm around him for even those few moments had sent something stirring in him. He had seemed tortured as they ate dinner the next night, and finally, as she’d sat down on the sofa to watch Netflix later that evening, he’d come into the living room and clicked off the television without a word. He’d sat down next to her and pulled her closer, methodically removing all but her _most under_ underthings and kissing every inch of bare skin that left for his lips.

Lizzie was pulled back to the present by Harry gently rubbing his thigh between her legs and scraping his teeth against her earlobe. She sighed happily. “Is Professor Tudor hellbent on spending his snow day devouring his tender-hearted wife?”

“I’m hellbent on spending _every_ day devouring you.” His clever fingers had been unbuttoning her blouse and he was now placing a trail of open-mouthed kisses over the rise of her breasts peeking from her bra. “But I didn’t know I _had_ a tender-hearted wife,” he lifted a teasing brow. “are you keeping her locked up in the cellar?”

“No.” She replied with a breathy gasp. “The cellar is where _my_ other spouse is kept.”

She had just begun to pull up the hem of his shirt, intending to remove it completely, when her cell began to ring. She groaned and moved off the wall, with him at first meekly attempting to keep her there. But he too groaned and let his head drop before moving aside to let her step away.

“We just can’t let calls go unanswered during a blizzard, Harry. It’d scare people to death.” She told him remorsefully, walking to the coffee table and answering the call. “Hello, Mother.”

“ _Lizzie? You’re not out in the storm, are you_?”

“No, I’m okay.” Lizzie responded. “I’m home now, the Museum called it a day for us at around noon. And LSE suspended their class schedule, so Harry’s home now, as well.”

“ _What if the power goes out? Do you have enough firewood_?”

Lizzie rubbed her eyes in irritation. “Neither the heat nor the cooker is electric, so it won’t matter if the power goes out. And we’ve plenty of wood for the fireplace.”

“ _Maybe I should send Reggie down on the next train_.”

“There’s a blizzard! And what good would sending sixty-year-old Mr. Denson on the two-hour trip down here do?” Lizzie asked dubiously, referring to York Manor’s caretaker. “Mum, Harry and I are adults, everything will be fine. If it’s not fine, there are plenty of services we can call here _in London_.”

Lizzie pointed to Harry then circled her finger, their secret gesture to get the other off a phone call. He walked to the sofa and sat down, yelling out for show, “Lizzie, will you come to the kitchen and look at the chicken in the oven! I’m not sure if I should cook it longer!”

“Mum, Harry’s calling me from the kitchen. I have to go.” Lizzie hung up the phone, throwing it down on the sofa. “God! You’d think it’d never snowed in Britain before!” She twisted her lips and pointed at him. “And we have to work on better excuses to get the other off the phone. I’m not sure my mother would ever believe _you_ were shouting out to _me_ for advice on cooking chicken.”

He smirked back at her and turned around in his seat. “This is one of the few times I don’t think your mother’s being overly-dramatic.” He looked out their front window to see that the light dusting of white he’d witnessed on his way home had already been replaced by a thick blanket of snow. “It’s supposed to be bad.”

“We couldn’t have had a white Christmas,” Lizzie agreed, throwing another log on their fire. “but fate decides to send us three days of snow just a week after your classes resume for the term.”

“I know the cooker’s not electric,” Harry got off the sofa and walked to the kitchen, shouting behind him. “But maybe we should cook some food before the power might go out?”

“Well, you might be psychic,” she followed directly after him. “because your incredibly brilliant wife may have had the foresight to go to the market this morning and—”

“Did you actually get us a chicken?” He interjected, turning around to face her with a toothy grin.

She grinned back the same. “I did, indeed…actually get us a chicken.”

 

 

An hour later, the chicken was in the oven and Harry was sautéing potatoes with onions, while beside him, Lizzie was caramelizing apples and bananas for their dessert. They stood close to each other, gently nudging elbows and playfully bumping hips, and both occasionally heaved a sigh as they listened to the wind howl and thrash against their windows. Harry looked over at Lizzie and grimaced.

“Don’t worry.” She smiled tensely in return. “If the lights go out, we’ve got candles already in the living room and bedroom.”

He smiled wistfully to himself, remembering the candles in the bedroom from watching them flicker just the night before. “I’m going to go bring a few in here.”

He had taken just two steps toward the living room when another howl rang out and the aforementioned lights did go dark.

Harry groaned, but Lizzie just got an automatic lighter from the nearby drawer and handed it to him with a smirk. “Come back quick.”

He took it and walked into the next room, lighting several pillar candles before walking over to the window, yelling out to her. “Looks like power’s out in the whole neighborhood!”

“Yeah, it also looks like a few feet of snow on the ground already.” She shouted back after catching the view out their garden doors. “I hope they get this much snow up in Yorkshire! Cate and Bridget would—”

Her thought was derailed by the loud crash of shattering glass in the living room, and Harry bellowing out, “ _FUCK_!!”

“Harry?!” She screamed out, running from the kitchen. “Harry?!”

“I’m okay.” He told her quickly, holding up calming hands.

She could see him by light of the candles. But as she walked to him, half those candles were blown out by a rush of wind—whose howl was magnified and whose frigidness seeped into the room through a gapping hole in the pane of their front window.

“Oh God!” She groaned out loudly as she laid hands on him to check him over. “What the hell was that?! Did you get cut?”

“No, I’m not hurt. And I’m pretty sure a snapped off branch from across the street hit the window.” He wrapped an arm around her, both looking to the glass on their living room floor. “We gotta get this glass cleaned up, and do we have a tarp or something to nail up over the pane?”

“Um,” she grabbed a candle and went to their hall closet. “Nothing here—except the toolbox.” She pulled the box out into the hallway. “Oh! We have your old camping gear upstairs in the office closet, can’t we use that thick camp blanket?”

“Yeah!” He nodded vigorously, grabbing another candle and running up the stairs, calling out behind him. “And I’ve got three torchlights in that gear, as well.”

She knelt on the floor and began taking out several nails and the hammer from the large toolbox Jasper had given them as a housewarming gift. She also grabbed a broom and dustpan from the same closet and went to the window to begin sweeping up the shards laid out beneath.

Harry came back down the stairs, holding the camp blanket and three torchlights. “Only two of them work. The third probably just needs batteries.”

“We have batteries in the kitchen.” Lizzie answered quickly.

She grabbed one of the working lights and shone it onto the shattered pane, keeping the light there as Harry took the blanket and nailed it tight over the broken square of glass.

“There.” He uttered after the last nail was in. “That should keep us comfy and cozy until after the storm passes and the pane can be replaced.”

“Harry,” Lizzie gave a quick chuckle and lifted a highly incredulous brow. “it’ll be _significantly_ chillier in here.” She then sauntered over to him, running her hand down his chest and giving him a sweet kiss. “But we’ll just have to work harder to keep each other warm.”

They’d just pulled each other even closer—descending into a longer, much sexier kiss—when another loud noise broke into their domestic bliss. A piercing screech that rang through the house in short, repetitive intervals from inside their kitchen.

They both grabbed the working torches and ran into the room to find the air thick with smoke amidst the acrid smell of burnt onions and potatoes. They were able to see through the veil of smoke enough to find the small fire in the skillet, putting it out immediately by covering it with the lid and moving it off the heat.

The smoke alarm continued blaring even after the flame was smothered and waving the air around them did nothing to help it. Finally, Harry went over to the garden doors and opened them to allow it to dissipate.

“Harry!” Lizzie shouted over the din as the freezing air and snow flurries began to swoosh into the kitchen. “There’s a blizzard!”

“Lizzie, the alarm won’t go off unless the smoke clears out.”

She walked to the doors and closed them despite the beginnings of his protests. “We can just take out the batteries!”

“They’re digital alarms!” He came over to reopen them, snow again blowing in over their shoes.

“Well, whose fucking brilliant idea was it to get digital alarms?”

“They’re better than the battery-operated ones!” He shouted back, using a dish towel to wave the smoke out into the garden. “That way if there’s an _actual_ house fire, we’re not dependent on fully-charged batteries as to whether we get out alive or not!”

“Well,” her teeth began to chatter as she also waved smoke out, standing across the frame of the door from him. “what if we’re just idiots who let skillet potatoes burn while we were occupied shoddily nailing a blanket over a broken window in the middle of a blizzard?”

He snorted, doubling over with laughter while she joined in good-naturedly. As they both recovered, he stepped over to her and cupped the back of her neck, gently pulling her lips to his. They let the kiss go on for quite some time, and it was only when they pulled back for air that they noticed the alarm had ceased. They grinned at each other.

He finally shut both doors and turned away from her to examine the contents of the cooker. “The chicken and the dessert are still redeemable, but the potatoes are long done for.” He cast his gleaming eyes over at her. “Maybe we can boil some pasta or—”

She was still dazed from their kiss, taking in the chaotic state of the kitchen while also peering into their disordered living room—and barely registering his words. All at once, a warm and pulsing feeling began to overtake her from head to toe.

She grabbed him again, cutting off his musing about dinner by pulling his face down to hers and devouring him in a hot kiss, her tongue exploring the deepest caverns of his mouth. She slowly rubbed her body along his and reached behind herself to unzipper her skirt, shimmying her hips so that it fell to the floor. Her hands then slipped under his shirt to run strong fingers along his abdomen and chest—careful to skip over his ticklish parts—until she reluctantly broke their kiss long enough to pull his shirt over his head and throw it next to her skirt beneath their feet.

He snuck his hand under the band of her knickers, cupping her ass while her determined hands undid his buckle and lowered his trousers until he too stood before her in only his underwear. She stepped back from him to unbutton the last few buttons of her blouse, letting it float down to join their other discarded clothes. She pushed them around with her foot, making a large, thick pile on the floor. She then dropped to her knees, pulling her eager husband down with her.

Once he was level with her, she pushed him onto his back atop the clothes on the floor. She slinked out of her knickers and dragged off his boxers before crawling over him to straddle his lap. She raised herself just barely, reaching between them to run teasing fingers over her own folds while he enthusiastically gripped onto her hips—all the while letting wrecked moans slip from his lips as his fevered eyes took in the sight of her pleasuring herself.

She leaned down to kiss him deeply and bite his lip, gasping out “ _yes, yes, yes.”_ She sat back up to lay a palm on chest, rising to bring her entrance directly over his member and sink down onto it. They both gasped at the feel of him inside her. “God, Lizzie, you feel so good.”

Lizzie hugged her knees into his sides, and he pushed his head back onto their bed of clothes in agonized ecstasy when she began moving back and forth over his lower half. She palmed her own breasts in a frenzied state that had her babbling incoherently—except for the distinguishable sound of his name—and throwing her head back in bliss.

They remained in this dance for a long time, and fortunately, she had felt all this before. But when she brought her head back up and caught his adoring gaze staring back at her, something happened that in the whole of their marriage had never happened for her.

She was keeping time with the wonderful push and pull of him inside her when she felt something within her, akin to a car crash—if that could ever be compared to this incredible feeling. It seemed like time slowed, she was jolted forward and then back again in a rush, she lost track of where she was, who she was, and sweat formed on her flushed skin….before _everything just shattered_.

Her heart pounded and her chest heaved, white flashing behind her eyes as a shuddering wave rolled through her, making her feel like she was being pulled down by an undertow. She distantly heard him shouting out ardently—something he’d never really done before, either—and then relax into jelly beneath her still moving body.

He drowsily sat up to run gentle hands up her back, cradling her between her shoulder blades as he laid open kisses along her neck and collarbones. She was still trembling, nearly weeping as she cupped his jaw with quivering hands. And when she opened her eyes, she looked at him as if he were a wonder.

He took a hard, shaking breath. His eyes lit up and his lips quirked. “Did you _just_ —”

“—like a _fucking_ freight train.” She moaned before he even finished his obvious question, dropping her forehead to the curve of his shoulder in contented exhaustion.

 

 

**_Everybody says the world is ending_ **

**_But for us it’s just beginning_ **

**_While everyone is running out and spinning_ **

**_We keep slowing down_ **

 

Hours later, they were still naked, still on the floor—but wrapped up together in a blanket in front of their fireplace. Harry got up his nerve as he spooned behind her. “So, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but what went right this time?”

Lizzie craned her head to glare back at him. “If I answered that question, that would be stating that things were _wrong the times before_.” She faced the flame again, tugging his arm closer around her. “So, I won’t answer that question.”

****

**_Everything we need is in the quiet_ **

**_So let’s hide out deep inside it_ **

**_And even if tomorrow doesn’t hold on_ **

**_At least, at least, at least we have this one song, one song_ **

 

“Okay. Rephrasing……..” he chuckled, dropping a kiss to her shoulder. “what was _different_ this time?”

She shrugged matter-of-factly. “Everything was in chaos.”

His brow furrowed. “You’re not one of those women who can only come when your like……in the middle of a bank robbery hostage situation, are you?”

She snorted out a burst of laughter. “No. It’s just—everything was a mess: shattered glass, freezing cold, screeching noises, snow, smoke, fire….and yet, I was happier than I’d ever been in my life. And nothing was going right, but in that moment, there was literally nowhere else in the whole world that I’d rather be.” She twined her fingers with his as she moved onto her back, looking up at him. “I think this is what my body’s been waiting for—proof to myself, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is where I want to be.” She grinned widely, leaning up to bite his lip. “I don’t think lack of orgasms will be our problem anymore.”

He kissed her soundly and ran gentle fingers through her hair. “Well, if this storm is really going to snow us in for three days………..maybe we should try making _too many_ orgasms our problem.”

****

**_Stay right where you are_ **

**_Stay right where you are_ **

 

 

 

 

 

Valentine’s Day had never been a big deal for Harry before.

He had already spent one Valentine’s with Lizzie and did an admirable show of being romantic—for someone who’d really only learned how to do that a short time before. But even still, that was when the marriage was still new, when they were still feeling their way around each other. And though he’d known that he’d cared for her then—it was nothing like this year’s holiday.

This year he’d grinned like a happy idiot all day on February 14th, giving his students no research or assignments, and double- (in even one case, _triple_ -) checking all his orders and reservations for the day. She had white roses delivered to her office at the Museum, and a town car and driver was picking her up from their house to carry her to the Bulgari Hotel for dinner at Rivea. He’d also confirmed the surprise travel plans for their spring holiday in Wales—five days during which he’d show her all his favorite places……including the extra surprise of Jasper and Cate meeting them at Pembroke Manor.

His senior faculty members, however, did not seem to care that it was Cupid’s holiday. Or that they were keeping their colleagues from their romantic plans. Instead keeping the weekly faculty meeting going a good forty-five minutes after it was scheduled to end. As a result, Harry had to call ahead—apologizing profusely—to tell Lizzie he’d be delayed in meeting her at the restaurant. She’d sweetly told him not to get himself killed racing to dinner, she’d wait for him as long as it took.

Harry walked into the hotel, smoothing down his suit and tie (his students had teasingly whistled as he’d walked into all his classes, unaccustomed to seeing him in such) and gave his name to the maitre’d, who told him that ‘ _Mrs. Tudor_ ’ was waiting in the bar for him to arrive.

His heart stopped when he saw Lizzie.

Very few men are anything but vain or delusional when they think that their woman is the most beautiful woman in the room. But Harry was neither—thoroughly _in love_ , perhaps—when that crossed his mind as he caught sight of her from across the crowded bar.

She was truly the most beautiful woman in the room.

She smiled when she turned and saw him, slinking off her barstool and walking to him. She shyly ducked her head and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear when his mouth dropped open in awe as he gazed upon her—thick curls throughout her gleaming blonde hair, smoky eye makeup which brought out her shining blue eyes, luscious red lips, and a fitted, knee-length, black cocktail dress that hung off her smooth, unblemished, porcelain shoulders.

Harry’s mouth still hadn’t closed by the time she reached him, so she giggled at him. He kissed her quickly, bringing a hand to her cinched waist. “You look……..I can’t even come up with a good enough word to describe you right now.”

“You clean up pretty good, too.” She smoothed a hand down his tie, before narrowing her eyes quizzically. “Did your students—”

“—they thought my body had been taken over by a better-dressed alien life form, yes.” He laughed, answering her question about his usual wardrobe before she’d even finished asking it. “But if they’d known what I was like before I was lucky enough to meet my wife, they’d know why I was now doing some out-of-character things to celebrate this day with her.”

She happily kissed him again. “Let’s go to dinner.”

They split appetizers of _Confit Oyster Mushroom Radicchio_ and _Langoustine Lemon Risotto,_ before digging into _Black Truffle Braised Veal_ for her and _Seared John Dory_ for him. He even drank much more of their 2014 Chianti than she did, and begrudgingly told her was very good (Italian restaurant, Italian wine…..despite his affinity for French). They chatted and laughed for nearly three hours—commiserating playfully about their controlling mothers, talking over their happy surprise at Jasper and Cate eloping in Las Vegas, and discussing what wedding gift to get Richie and Maggie.

They finished off the meal by sharing a chocolate tarte, and once they’d ordered it, a near-permanent sly grin formed on Harry’s face that still hadn’t gone away. Lizzie curiously examined him.

“Harry,” she began, taking a bite of the dessert. “what are you up to?”

“Okay.” He blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair, looking around and leaning toward her like he was plotting a crime. “I may have gotten us a room here tonight.”

Her eyes widened and she sultrily bit her lip. “You _may have_?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, placing it between them on the white tablecloth. “I _did_.”

“I see.” She sat back in her chair, crossing her legs. “That’s a bit presumptuous of you, Tudor.”

“I was going more for…..” he smiled and struggled to find the word. “…… _hopefu_ l.”

Her hand came to the center of the table and the key resting on it, then she smirked up at him. “I think it’s more along the lines of……. _intuitive._ ”

“Yeah?” He chuckled breathily.

She nodded back at him with excitement shining in her blue eyes. “You’ll pay the check?”

“Immediately.”

 

 

“ _Fuck_!” She shouted out with a lustful rasp as she felt his muscles seize and then relax above her, before collapsing onto her in exhaustion. The wave of pleasure was just beginning to fade for her as she slowly let go of the death grip on his hair. “Oh _God_ ….Harry.”

His tongue made one last lustful pass along the damp skin of her neck and he pushed up on his arms, looking down at her with a dazed, blissful smile. “Hotel room was a good idea?”

“Best idea since our mothers decided we should get married.” She affirmed with a cheeky grin, pushing sweaty hair from his forehead. She felt her toes finally uncurl and let her eyes flutter shut, trying to calm her pounding heart with a hand to her chest. “ _Jesus_.”

It had been weeks since the Great Blizzard—as Londoners were calling it—and Lizzie would _never say_ that she loved Harry more since that night, nor would she go as far as saying she was happier…..or even that she enjoyed their sex life more. Okay, _maybe_ she could say that.

But that night on the kitchen floor had opened a flood gate in her mind, soul and body…..and she basically found herself shattering in bliss every time Harry touched her. She wasn’t lying to him or herself when she’d said she would be happy with her marriage even if that had never happened. But this new development was awfully nice.

Harry rolled off her to burrow into her side and laid a soft palm on her breast, nuzzling his lips below her ear. “So, I’m the best Valentine’s gift giver ever?” He asked playfully, with a bit of hope.

“Um, you’re pretty good.” She tucked her arm beneath her pillow with a clever grin. “But I’m afraid I’ve got you beat.”

His eyes lit up and he excitedly propped up on his elbow. “You got me a gift?”

“I did.” Her grin widened as she let their legs tangle together in the sheets.

“Is it at home?”

She played coy as she twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Nope, I’ve got it on me.”

“Are you going to give it to me?” He sat up fully, furrowing his brow.

She twisted her lips, pondering. “I’ve actually got to hold onto it for a while.”

He chuckled, clearly confused. “How long?”

“Let’s see,” she sat up too, taking his hand in hers and softly placing it on her belly. “the doctor says….about seven and a half more months.”

The smile that had been on his face quickly changed to a dumbfounded stupor, mouth dropping open and eyes glazing over. He finally swallowed audibly and softly spread his hand wider on her belly. After several long moments, he let out a small chuckle.

“You’re serious?” He looked at her like a child on Christmas morning. “Lizzie, this is actually happening?”

She placed a tender hand on his jaw. “Yeah.” She beamed at him with tears forming in her eyes. “I found out at the doctor’s yesterday.”

His eyes became pensive and he chewed his lip. “Are you….you’re happy about this?”

“Harry,” she gave a watery giggle. “I’m so _very_ happy.”

“So am I.” He cupped the back of her neck and brought her lips to his in a sweet, devoted kiss. “Thank you, Lizzie…….I love you.”

Her eyes fluttered in contentment. “And I love you.”

He laughed joyously until he was forced to take a breath. “You found out yesterday?”

“Yeah.” She nodded.

“Well, it’s settled then.” He grinned widely at her. “For the rest of our lives, we won’t celebrate February 14th…….we’ll celebrate _February 13 th_.”

He dropped down to the bed so that he laid on his stomach and crawled to her, wrapping his arms around her middle and pressing his cheek to her belly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed the crown of his head.

 

Thus was the start of their family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics are--Stay Right Where You Are by Ingrid Michaelson


	12. Old Land of My Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie and Harry share their joyous news, and then grow even closer as they travel to Harry's ancestral home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in updating. Not to overshare, but my grandmother died. The week after was busy and sad, and then followed by about a month of me numbly vegging out on my sofa, not wanting to do anything.
> 
> If you're sticking with the story even after the delay, it's truly appreciated. Thanks all!

“Henry! A child!” Margaret shouted with joy from her seat at the head of her dining table, once the words were out of Lizzie’s mouth. “My grandson!”

Cecily squealed and bolted from her chair, running around the table to hug her sister and speaking lowly in her ear. “I should have known something was up when you _willingly choose_ to have the whole family together for brunch.”

“Henry, Lizzie, dear children…..” Elizabeth had stood at the news as well, following Cecily. She hugged Harry, then moved forward to hug Lizzie once Cecily stepped back. “…. _no longer children_ , since they are now having their own.” She turned to Margaret with a genuine smile on her face. “How truly blessed we are, Margaret.”

“God smiles on us, indeed.” Margaret beamed, nearly overflowing with joy. “We shall name him Arthur. And christen him at Winchester.”

Elizabeth nodded along with Margaret, sitting back down beside Cecily. “And he should, of course, attend Eton when the time comes.”

“French boarding schools are just as illustrious as Eton, Elizabeth.” Margaret quickly narrowed her eyes. “Since Eton sometimes borders on trendy rather than—”

“And just how should we fill out the admission forms to these boarding schools you speak of, hmm? As the _Tudor Embryo_?” Lizzie cut off her mother-in-law with lifted a brow. “Oh, and _he_ could just as easily be a _she_ , Lady Mothers.”

Harry sighed, already beginning to feel the joy of his and Lizzie’s announcement begin to bleed away under their mothers’ intrusion. “Before we begin completely planning the life of the child—who’s only about the size of a cherry right now— _maybe_ we can just be happy for two seconds that the child exists in the first place?”

Lord Stanley stood from his seat momentarily to reach a hand across the dinner table. “I share your joy, Henry.”

Harry reached over, taking the hand and shaking it. “Thank you, Thomas.”

“Did you hear that, little darlings?” Lizzie looked to the two chairs on her left, smiling and placing a gentle hand on the head nearest to her. “You’re both going to be someone’s aunt!”

Bridget and Cate giggled, with Cate speaking up, “Does that mean we can boss them around like you and Cecily and Anne do to us?”

“No.” Cecily deadpanned while cutting into her sausage, glaring across the table at the two little girls. “Aunts don’t get to boss around—only _sisters_.”

“Harry and I are calling Richard at school this afternoon.” Lizzie smiled warmly, squeezing Harry’s hand. She bit her lip nervously, worried of what Margaret would think of her next admission. “And we already called Jasper last night………he could barely speak, he was so thrilled.”

“I for one, am just happy I can finally stop deflecting all the probing questions I’d get at Garden Club about you starting a family.” Elizabeth put her napkin back in her lap. “And stop the whole ‘ _they’re just enjoying being newly-married for now_ ’ nonsense that I’ve been giving my friends.”

“Hear, hear.” Margaret raised a teacup to her lips. “You wouldn’t believe all the raised brows I’d get at my Library Society meetings when there was no news of a grandchild yet.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “We’ve been married less than _a year and a half_!”

Elizabeth shrugged as if Lizzie’s argument was inconsequential. “The whole point of this was to join our two houses.”

“Which they did by _getting married_ , even though that wasn’t what they really wanted at the time you and Lady Margaret _ordered_ them to.” Cecily defended her sister, looking at her mother in disbelief. “When are you going to stop heaping more expectations onto them?”

“Cecily!” Elizabeth admonished with a withering glare at her daughter seated next to her. “This is not a discussion in which you should be involved.”

“Yes.” Lizzie huffed under her breath before taking a sip of orange juice. “God forbid anyone have an opinion that _isn’t yours_.”

Elizabeth clenched her eyes shut and slumped slightly in her chair, before adding a self-pitying, “Are my two oldest children just determined to _humiliate_ me today?”

“That, at least, we can commiserate on, Elizabeth.” Margaret shook her head, running a finger over the rim of her teacup. “Sometimes it seems as though Henry’s second career is to embarrass me.”

“And how quickly we went from the happy news that I’m giving you a grandchild,” Harry sighed loudly, pushing his plate away. “back to the standard ‘ _Oh, how big a disappointment is Henry’_ brunch conversation.”

Lizzie suddenly clenched her eyes shut and covered her mouth. “Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.” She jumped up out of her chair and bolted from the dining room.

Thomas put down his Bloody Mary glass and pursed his lips, looking around the room. “I hear morning sickness can quite bend you over a barrel.”

“Don’t be so quick to blame morning sickness, Lord Stanley.” Cecily angrily crossed her arms and leant back in her chair. “I’m not pregnant and I want to vomit, too.”

 

 

 

 

 

Lizzie was leaned over the bathroom countertop, white-knuckling the edge, while Harry sinuously rolled his body into hers as he pressed behind her, inside her. One of his hands gripped into the soft skin of her hip, while the other wrapped around her to keep a soft grasp of her fuller breast. Lizzie let out a sharp gasp, throwing her head back as her eyes clenched shut and her mouth fell open in a long moan of pleasure.

Harry gazed at her blissed-out expression in the vanity mirror, her intense look of concentration smoothing out into utter relaxation. His heartbeat sped up at the knowledge he gave her this beautiful feeling and it caused him to slump against her back, while a few more quick thrusts inside her brought him over into the same ecstasy.

When Harry could think again, he laid lazy kisses onto the bare skin between her shoulder blades, and Lizzie moved his hand from her breast to brush kisses over his knuckles. They both fought to even out their breathing.

She began to hum lowly and went with him as he straightened again, so that her back stayed pressed to his front. She reached behind her to run her fingers along the back of his neck and he wrapped his arms around her middle, his hands cradling the tiny bump that had just begun to show on her belly.

“I am genuinely sorry you feel sick in the mornings.” Harry brushed his lips along her temple. “But I _do like_ the way you feel in the afternoons.”

She chuckled and dropped her head back to his shoulder, looking up at him. “You don’t mind that the mother of your child is randier than a rabbit in heat once the clock strikes noon?”

He turned her around in his arms, kissing her gently before giving her a sly grin. “Not in the slightest. It certainly makes our lunch hours more interesting.”

“Do you want lunch?” Lizzie quirked a brow, untangling herself from him and walking over to turn on their shower. “I could _actually feed_ you.”

“I can get a sandwich anywhere.” Harry grabbed her around the waist again, kissing her neck as she pinned her hair up. “I’d much rather have you.”

“None of that.” She admonished with a giggle, pulling away and smacking his hand playfully. “I’ll let you share this shower to save time—and _save time only_ —but if you can’t keep your hands to yourself, we won’t get back to work before our breaks are over.”

For the third time that week, they were both late getting back from lunch.

 

 

 

 

 

“The housekeeper at Pembroke will have dinner waiting for us when we get there.” Harry smiled at her from the driver’s seat. “You’ll love her. I always have.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Quite frankly, she was happy at the idea of having people to take care of again.”

“Well, I’ll try very hard not to throw up all over her manor,” Lizzie winked back at him, her hair blowing behind her from the wind of the open car window. “……so as not to get on her bad side.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to cancel?” He glanced over at her sympathetically. “I really don’t mind spending our vacation days relaxing with you on our sofa. I can’t stand to think of you sick in a strange place.”

“No, Harry. My ‘ _throw up all over her manor_ ’ comment was just an attempt at humor.” She smiled genuinely. “I’m honestly getting better. And as long as we don’t plan anything for the mornings, I’m in top-shape by the afternoons.”

“You’re sure?” He lifted a concerned brow.

Lizzie leaned across the center console to kiss the side of his head. “I want to see where you grew up—I’m actually a bit ashamed that I’ve been your wife for this long and haven’t been there yet.” She placed both hands on her protruding belly. “If I’m going to bring the next generation of Tudors into the world, I should at least see the place before I do.”

 

 

 

The Tudor housekeeper, Mrs. Robirds, clapped with joy when Harry stepped out of the car in front of Pembroke Manor, running down the gravel drive to meet him halfway and wrapping her arms around him. He laughed and twirled the small woman around in a circle.

“Ah, you’ve come home.” She chuckled once he put her back down on the ground, smacking his arm. “About damn time, Harry Tudor!”

Harry pulled her into his side as they walked back over to the car. “Well, as it’s about to be obvious in a moment, I have a bit more on my plate than I did the last time I was here.”

Harry helped Lizzie out the car and placed a hand on her belly, showcasing her bump.

Mrs. Robirds gasped, her eyes widening and jaw dropping. She pointed to the bump. “Is that……..”

Lizzie put her hands on it, grinning. “Yep.”

“Harry Tudor!” Mrs. Robirds shouted happily, pulling Harry back into her arms, then quickly freeing him to tightly grasp Lizzie—to whom she’d yet to be introduced. “This is wonderful news!”

Harry’s smile split his face, nodding along. “We think so, too.”

The older woman released her tight hold on Lizzie, now merely grasping her hands. “And I’m sincerely hoping you’re Lizzie?” She quirked a teasing brow. “Or else I’ll have to give Harry a serious talking to.”

“Carol,” Harry began, kissing Lizzie’s temple. “This is Lizzie York.”

“Actually, as long as we’re in Pembroke………” Lizzie began, biting her lip tentatively and looking up at Harry. “I wouldn’t mind being _Lizzie Tudor_.”

“Well, then.” Harry grinned proudly, appreciatively looking back at his wife. “Carol, this is my wife, Lizzie Tudor.”

“Carol,” Lizzie gave Mrs. Robirds a big smile. “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

“And you, dear.” Mrs. Robirds patted Lizzie’s hand. “I do hope you forgive me for missing your wedding, but my husband works for days at a time out on the Douglas Complex oil rig, and my ninety-year-old mother is living at home with us.” The older woman smiled at Lizzie apologetically. “It just wasn’t feasible for me to travel to Yorkshire. But I hope you know that I very much shared in your joy, and that I wish you all the best for your marriage......and now your children.”

“Of course,” Lizzie answered genuinely. “Don’t think anything of it.”

Mrs. Robirds held onto Lizzie’s hands, virtually ignoring Harry as she walked Lizzie into the manor. “Now, are there any foods you can’t tolerate with your pregnancy? I can fix you anything if you have food aversions. I made Cawl and Rarebit for your first night in Wales, but I did that because those are Harry’s favorites……..and who gives a flip about him anymore!”

 

 

 

“Do you like it here?” Harry spoke into the top of Lizzie’s head, looking up onto the canopy as they laid in bed that night.

“Are you kidding me?” Lizzie turned her head up to look at him, her eyes adjusting to the moonlight. “I can’t wait to explore the manor further. I mean, I thought York Manor was impressive—but this is just a whole different level. I feel like I’ve traveled eight-hundred years into the past!” She tapped his chin with her forefinger. “And here I was giving myself a hard time for not visiting my husband’s ancestral home, but I should actually be giving _you_ a hard time for not bringing your _Historian wife_ to this near-museum of Welsh history.”

He chuckled lowly, rubbing her forearm where it laid over his chest. “I thought you’d like it. Truthfully, I’d never really appreciated that side of it—at least until I started imagining it the way you’d see it through your eyes.” He craned his head down to place a soft kiss on her lips. “And don’t forget the three-thousand acres surrounding the estate.”

“Oh yes!” She exclaimed, sitting up fully in excitement. “Is there someone, a groundskeeper or someone who can show us around who’d know all the history?”

Truthfully, the best person to show her around the estate was Jasper, who—along with his new wife, Cate Buckingham—would be arriving as a surprise the next day by the time Lizzie shook off her morning sickness. But Harry couldn’t tell her that tonight.

“I’m sure I’ll find someone who can take us around. You should see the place in its entirety.” He cupped her face, kissing her lips again and smiling sweetly at her before pulling her back down to the bed with him. “I don’t want you think me a caveman—but it did make me happy that you wanted to be Lizzie _Tudor_ , at least while we’re here at Pembroke.”

“Well, I’m a member of the family.” She grinned back at him, softly tracing her thumb over his eyebrow. “And I _should_ take the family name—at least while we’re in the family home.”

“ _Your_ home.” Harry raised both brows.

Lizzie nodded back, placing her chin on her folded hands where they rested on his chest. “Right, my family home.”

“No, Lizzie,” he began to correct her, his hand reaching out to lift her chin. “This isn’t _the family_ home. I mean it’s been in the Tudor family for dozens of generations……..but it’s _mine_.” He paused as he saw her eyes widen. “ _I’m_ Lord Tudor, and I have been since my father died— _before I was born_. It was held in trust until I turned thirty, but that was three years ago. So……. the day we married, you became Lady Tudor, and everything I have is yours.” He went with her when she bolted straight up again, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “ _Everything_ , Lizzie.”

She shook her head to clear her mind. “I knew that. I mean, the rational part of my mind _knew that_ ……but, Harry, I don’t think it really hit me, what _that meant_ , until you just said that.” She looked out the open curtains of their window, onto the vast grounds of the estate. “It’s all ours.”

He nodded carefully. “Yes.”

“It doesn’t have to change us, does it?” She looked at him expectantly.

“Not in the slightest.” He grinned at her, taking her hand in his. “Things here have been running how they always have—Pembroke doesn’t need us to be its Lord and Lady in order to survive.”

“I like cooking our own dinners and making our own bed.” Lizzie leaned in to nuzzle his neck. “I don’t want to turn into my mother…….or yours.” She shuddered, her face screwing up in a grimace. “I like who we are—I don’t want us to change just because all of this…..” she looked around at the carved stone and arched ceilings of the very large Lord’s Chamber. “…..is _ours_.”

“Maybe it’s time to share this place _with the world_.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We can open Pembroke to visitors—make large parts of it a _museum_.” His face lit up at the idea. “Would that be something you’d like?”

She nodded excitedly, her eyes bright even in the dark of the late hour. “It would.”

“Lizzie,” Harry put his hands on her belly. “I love our life. The only thing that I want to change is that in four months we have a healthy, happy baby.”

“Lord Tudor.” She stroked a tender hand down the side of his face. “Have I ever told you I love you?”

He chuckled lightly, grabbing the hand and kissing its palm. “You have, Lady Tudor, but I never get tired of hearing it.”

 

 

It was late the next morning, and Lizzie still had wet hair from her recent shower as she ambled down the large stone staircase into the massive foyer of Pembroke Manor. She saw Mrs. Robirds walking toward her with a cup in her hand.

“A nice decaffeinated tea, dear.” Carol said, handing her the beverage. “To settle your stomach.”

Lizzie thanked her just as they heard a commotion out the front door, and barely caught the blurred shape of Harry as he flew past them with a grin on his face and a glimmer in his eye. He winked at them both before he pushed open the massive iron doors.

“Ah,” Mrs. Robird’s smiled, pointing to the open door. “Good…… _they’re here_.”

Lizzie’s brow furrowed before her ears caught the sound of a voice she used to hear daily, but hadn’t heard in person for many months. She ran out the door to find a rental car on the gravel in front of the manor, with two people moving around back of it.

Cate dropped her bags to the ground when she turned around and saw Lizzie. She screamed happily and ran from the car, hugging Lizzie tightly when she reached her and kissing the top of her head. She pulled back and looked down at Lizzie’s belly.

“Ah, you’re still so bloody skinny!” Cate laughed, rolling her eyes. “Of course the only way you’d know you were pregnant is by your cute little baby bump.”

“Hey,” Lizzie laughed back, looking down at herself. “my boobs are bigger too.”

“I can attest to that!” Harry shouted back to them, taking the last bag out of the car and closing the trunk.

“Harry Tudor!” Jasper narrowed his eyes at his nephew in admonishment just as he reached Lizzie. He put his bag on the ground and stood before her, his expression soft and grateful.

“Jasper.” Lizzie smiled happily, kissing his cheek and folding into his outstretched arms. “Oh, it’s so lovely to see you.”

“Lizzie.” Jasper embraced her and practically sang into her hair. “You’ve made an old man very happy.”

Lizzie pulled back and beamed at him. “Yes, Cate’s the best, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yes.” Jasper’s eyes widened in realization. “She’s truly wonderful, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for introducing us, but I truly meant………. _Harry._ That boy’s been my life since even before he was born.” Jasper looked back at Harry, who was shyly ducking his head. “So, you make him happy—you make _me_ happy. And you’ve made him truly, truly happy.”

Lizzie’s lip trembled, and her eyes filled with happy tears. “Well, he makes me truly, truly happy as well, Jasper.”

 

 

 

 

 

The two of them peacefully laid out on the green grass, their car parked a little way back, and had lunch underneath the miracle of the warm Welsh sun.

“Do you think it was really here?” Lizzie gestured around her, reclining back on a checkered blanket as she chewed on a wedge of cheese. “Arthur and Camelot?”

Harry laughed, taking a swig of his Cwtch red ale as he gazed around at the open, rolling green hills. “They say Caerlon is a possibility—if it was even _real_.”

“Oh, come on!” Lizzie lightly smacked his arm. “Your family has ties to Wales and yet you doubt _Camelot_?”

Harry laid down on his side, propped up on his elbow as he ran his fingers along a strand of her hair. “I doubt anything I can’t see with my own eyes.”

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his. “That’s not true…….you have a believer’s heart, Tudor.”

She leaned away from him again and casually laid a hand on her belly, sighing sweetly. Then suddenly, she sat up straight with a shocked look on her face.

He sat up too, concern marring his features. “What’s wrong?”

She let out a nervous chuckle as she lightly pressed on her belly. “You know how I told you some time ago that I could feel a flutter?”

“Yeah, and I was jealous as hell because I couldn’t feel anything?”

She grabbed his hand and put it on her bump. “Harry, feel……..”

He laid his hand on her belly for a few moments before he felt movement underneath it. He let out a gasp and then an enormous grin burst across his face. A long, relieved breath escaped his lungs. “I can’t believe it!” He chuckled, his head leaning closer to her middle. “It’s the most amazing thing.”

They sat there in the quiet for some time, with Harry moving his hand along her stretched skin and pressing his cheek to her bump. He hummed happily as Lizzie gently ran her fingers through his hair.

She finally spoke, putting her hand over his. “I know we love doing anything to spite your mother, but if the first time we feel him move is here, in this place,” Lizzie laughed, laying her head on Harry’s shoulder. “maybe we _should_ follow her _‘suggestion’_ and name him Arthur.”

Harry sat back, looking at her dumbfounded. He swallowed loudly. “Him?”

“Harry,” Lizzie’s face fell instantly, horrified at inadvertently revealing the secret. “oh my god. I’m so sorry…..I just got so caught up and I……. I completely forgot that you didn’t want to know the gender.” She looked like she was about to cry. “Harry, I’m so—”

Harry cut her off with a bruising kiss to her lips, wrapping his arms around her. He pulled back with tears shining in his own eyes. “It’s a boy?” He beamed at her excitedly. “There’s no mistake?”

“None. It’s a boy. Harry, I’m sorry, I know you wanted to be surprised—”

“Oh, come on,” Harry stopped her again, chuckling joyously and pressing a kiss into her hair. “I know you telling me was just an accident. And like I could ever be upset about hearing this! We’re having a son, Lizzie. This is just...incredible.”

“Really?” She chewed on her lip, her eyes brilliant and shining.

“Well, just for purposes of being honest—I was _kind of_ hoping for a girl.” He winked at her. “But that’s just because if it was a girl……she’d be just like _you._ And that would be wonderful. But a boy……he could be just like _me_.” Harry gave her an exaggerated grimace. “And that could be a bit of a mess.”

Lizzie leaned in and solidly pressed her lips to his. Pulling back, she wiped her eyes and smiled serenely. “I don’t know about that…… _you’re not so bad_.” She lightly twisted a curl of his hair around her finger. “You’re happy?”

“I don’t think they’ve come up with a word yet to describe how happy I am.” A contented tear fell down Harry’s cheek and he wiped it away, a breathy chuckle leaving his mouth before softly covering her face with kisses. “And yes, his name _should_ be Arthur………Arthur Tudor, prince of the _whole freaking world_!!!!”

Lizzie joined their hands resting on her belly, giggling sweetly at Harry's exuberance. “ _Prince Arthur_.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
